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In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


Gibbou


Gibbou had fun watching Twilight flop around in the water on his third day of swimming. There was something satisfying about watching that little dumby try out some repentance for once. Truth be told, though, she had no idea what to make him do once he actually reached Kubrajzar. She had brainstormed some punishments, sure, like counting the number of sand grains on the beach he’d make landfall on, or by writing “I hate Neiya” one hundred times in that same sand. Perhaps she’d make him do both.

She poured herself a drink - thinking up punishments for that two-faced scoundrel was thirsty work. Her environment didn’t help much either - there are many ways to describe the surface of her moon, and ‘humid’ isn’t one of them. She sat in a somewhat cold and stiff armchair facing the planet below, feet resting upon a frozen cushion. There, she sipped on her magical cup which kept the liquid inside it cool, yet fluid, despite the much cooler and non-fluid objects outside of it. This cup was at least in the top five of the most convenient things she’d ever made. Granted, in terms of convenience, it was unclear whether things she had made could even number more than five, or five at all. It was a sad thought, and one she tried intently to dismiss as soon as it popped into her head. As is the case with thoughts one wants to disappear, however, thinking about it only made it stronger and stronger until she plopped her face into her hands, shooting a hopeless groan through the blue straw sticking into her glass. She knew she had talked to Oraelia about her feelings of uselessness, and sure, it’d been nice - really, really nice - to have someone to just talk to about them.

However…

”Why am I such a useless goddess?!” she shouted into the void. A void response was all she received in return. She groaned again and emptied her cup. She would have to regain her honour as a goddess… She needed to stop making all these no-good, hopeless species and artifacts that were either so specific that they could never be used, or so broad that there would be no way to control them!

She conjured for herself another drink and gave it a stern sip. Something truly awesome would be her next project… It’d need to be bigger an better than anything she had made before. She took another sip. Yes, bigger, better - something to show mortality just what she’s all about - a peaceful night’s sleep! Yeah! That would surely fix up her image, and maybe even do some good for her own psyche, too! She’d just make enough helpful stuff for people to forget all about the trolls and the vampires and the sword and…

The train of thought made her finish her drink and conjure forth a new one. She eyed her cup, noticing that it has been joined by a twin just like it, oddly enough held by her second left hand. She noticed her skin feeling hotter than usual, and her face feeling oddly itchy.

Eh, it would probably pass any minute. She’d talked to Oraelia now and was a responsible goddess now! She wouldn’t repeat that one time - no way!



”Aaaan’... Baaazoooooom!” shouted Gibbou with a cackle. Down on Galbar, specifically in the jungles of Kubrajzar, there popped into existence a blue, snake-like dragon with a great, blue mane that waved in the air like a drunken fire. On its face, it wore a mask, on its head grew black antlers, and its hands were soft, fluffy paws. It was soon joined by more like it, with little hatchlings rolling around on the forest floor. Nearby, an Itztli huntress dropped their spear in fright and slowly backed away. One of the adult dragons caught sight of her, eyeing her hungrily. The huntress spun around and tried to run, but the dragon soared off after her, floating just above the ground like some sort of ghost. The Itztli tripped over a root in her panic and crashed into the ground. With the dragon fast approaching, she screamed for help and her life passed before her eyes - her family, friends, lovers, enemies - all of them filled her mind in her last moments before the dragon caught her.

… Except it wouldn’t be her last moments. In fact, the huntress found herself very much alive and, surprisingly enough, growing increasingly calm. There was an odd sensation around her torso, as though she was bound by some sort of thick rope. She dared open her eyes to investigate, only to stare the masked dragon in the face. She would have gasped, but her body just didn’t seem to find the whole ordeal stressful at all. The dragon titled its head to the side and the Itztli looked down to further survey her situation. The dragon was hugging her, and that in a very sweet, friendly way. It was the sort of hug that is perfect no matter the situation - it just made her feel safe and at peace. The dragon’s skin was warm and soft; it wasn’t covered in reptilian scales, but dow-like fur; it purred softly like a cat, too, which only made her drowsier. It didn’t take long for her lids to grow heavy and for her to realise just how intense today’s hunt had been. As her body grew heavier with exhaustion, the dragon gently laid itself under her and curled up around her. There, the Itztli slept soundly, all the stress and worry in her body seeping out and feeding the dragon underneath her.

When the Itztli woke again the following morning, she had been left on the forest floor, a thin nest of blue hair forming a mattress underneath her. She touched her head - that night’s sleep had been almost too good. She looked around for the beast that had, uh, attacked her the night before. However, they were all completely gone. She plucked at some of the fur and gave it a smell, comparing its scent to that of the surroundings. After searching for them for an hour or so, she shook her head in sadness.

Those would’ve been amazing to keep around after a hard day’s work.



”Boohee,” giggled the moon goddess with a snort. ”Issha sho kyoooooot! Oh-boo-boo-boooo!” She reached out to pat it, only to realise she was staring at a projection of the dragon.This bummed her out, so she mixed herself another drink, right before realising she could conjure forth one just like it in her realm. So she did (making certain, of course, to give it the necessary traits to survive the vacuum and temperature of space), and it immediately proceeded to pack the goddess tightly into its coiling body, its soundless purring reverberating through Gibbou’s body as opposed to the air. GIbbou was far from done, however.

”Yesh! More! More kyootsie fhungsss!” She waved her hand just as her forehead crashed into the Dormiron’s furry tail with a ‘puh’.



In the deep jungles of the Mydian island of Whakarongo, along the coast where the lands grew humid and warm, an odd, fluffy flower popped out of the sand. Its bloom was a grayish black, fuzzy nob connected to a thick, dark green step which also sported a circular crown of green leaves which seemed to redden at the tip. A nearby Akua couple were walking along the beach picking empty seashells. They exchanged flirty jokes and giggles at one another there in the warm, beautiful sunset.

“... Oh, Tonga, you can’t say those things!” giggled Moana. Tonga smirked back and picked up a shell which had flushed in all the way to the tree line, not too far away from the flower. His smirk became a wide smile and he waved with playful dismissiveness at her comment.

“Well, it’s true! You know his mother is...” His voice faded as he was talking, and he hadn’t quite noticed it himself before he saw Moana’s eye-roll and smirk.

“Oh, so now you can’t say it?”

Say what? was what Tonga tried to say, but while his lips moved and his vocal cords vibrated, nothing came out. He grabbed his own throat and he saw Moana was starting to frown.

“Tonga, are you alri...?” she approached, arm outstreched. Tonga pointed at her and tried to shout something, but nothing came out. Moana froze in fear - Tonga’s every movement and body signal had indicated that his words would’ve been loud enough to give a Night Elf tinnitus, but what actually came out had been completely void of sound - to the point where she doubted even a Night Elf with celestial blessings could hear it. She tried to respond, both she, too, was silent. Terrified, the two of them ran back homewards, but after running for about fifteen paces, they realised they could hear each other panting. They embraced one another in relief and stared back at the forest in horror.

“What was that?! Some kind of spell?” whimpered Moana.

“I don’t know…”

Meanwhile, the little, black flower licked its metaphorical lips. It had been fed ample amounts of sound, and was now ready to spread out across the forest!



What shall we do with the drunken Gibbou?
What shall we do with the drunken Gibbou?
What shall we do with the drunken Gibbou
Earlay in tha’ evenin’!”

The moon goddess whooped and grabbed a salted peanut from a pile she had conjured forth on the lunar surface next to her. She flicked it up into the air and tried to catch it with her mouth. She failed miserably and it landed in her open eye. She scream and waved around clumsily with enough intensity to wave up the Dormiron she was sleeping on. In her flurry, she cast a bolt out of her hands, which soared down to the surface of Galbar. She stopped and eyed its destination - it was in the middle of the Anchor Mountains. With a ‘prrt!’ of the lips, she snickered.

No harm done.



High up in the World Anchor, in the great halls of Thunder the Mountain King, sat that ancient monster whose attack on humanity had been the first, flanked on each side by his two favourite spawn: Quake and Crush, both equally skilled in manhunting, and worthy successors of the Cragking Crown. In total, he had spawned perhaps six spawn, but two had been lost to the Eye of Death, one had gone for a trip up north and never come back, and another had gone south… And never come back. Truly, there was no respect in being a father.

The whole cave quaked for a moment, and all three of them wondered for a moment if it was -that- time again. However, the quakes stopped as suddenly as they had come, and they all looked up to see that something had broken through their stone-sealed door. It was a pair of glasses, glass black as night. However, they were trapped in the middle of a deadly solar ray beaming in through their doorway. Thunder had an age-old rivalry with the sun - he was not about to lose now. He clapped his favouritest spawn, Quake, on the shoulder. The smaller dovregubbe, barely a millennium old and just having regrown his shoulder forest after it was shed off to make some spawn of his own, flashed a frown of reluctance at his father. However, all dovregubbes knew that, when it came to their hierarchy, none could defy the Mountain King - that was just a rule of nature.

With quivering legs that hadn’t moved for months, Quake rose up to his full sixteen metres, stretching out for a moment. Then, with rabbit steps, he snuck over to the glasses in the light. With deft patience honed for a millennium, he waited for the sun to be blocked out by a cloud. He waited and waited, and waited some more.

There! While the sun dipped behind a cloud, he knelt down to pick up the object. However! Just as he did, the sun peeked back out. Instinctively, he brought his hands to his eyes, putting the glasses on his nose.

Crush rocketed to his feet in shock, and Thunder, who hadn’t risen for two hundred years, felt age old eyelids that had barely moved since he last moved, part in sheer disbelief. There, his spawn Quake, stood in full sunlight, wearing a pair of black-glassed glasses. Quake’s lip quivered - he hadn’t died. He hurried back into the safety of the dark and the three trolls inspected this artifact closely, and tested it out more in the following days. Indeed, it made it almost as though whatever reality was, their bodies experienced the world as night.

The three trolls exchanged wicked smirks. Maybe it was about time to extend the reach of the Cragking Crown?



Gibbou squinted her blurred vision down at the mountains. ”Waaait a minuzz… Ain’t that wher…” A hiccup made her forget her train of thought. ”Dunmatta, mo’ stuffz!” The Dormiron was beginning to feel uncomfortably full - the goddess just seemed to ooze out more and more excitement. She bounced up and down in her soft seat and ‘thought’ about what to make next. She made narrow eyes at Ha-Dûna, that most amiable of villages.

”Bet bein’ mortal muzz be hard, huh, misser dargon.” The Dormiron gave her what could be approximated to be a frown. Gibbou cracked up her fingers and snapped her fingers. ”Lez dere be PEEEEEEEAAAACE!”



Down in Ha-Dûna, a number of peasants and druids suddenly got the strangest idea to head out into the meadow in search of a very specific weed. This weed was collected, sampled and replanted, with a small portion being sent off to dry. Plants and logs of wood were turned into pipes of various shapes and sizes, and the whole town started smelling faintly of burnt weed as its citizens breathes deep in the plant’s calming smokes. The pipeweed was immediately made into a pastime for the peasants in between shifts at the farm, as they would meet up with their neighbours to crack a joke, drink some milk and have a smoke. The druid apprentices became ample users, the curriculum of their education much too stressful to study without at least something for the nerves. The druids and archdruids eventually just joined in because everyone else was doing it. The druids brought this culture around wherever they went, as well as a little extra to barter for food and shelter whenever the local chiefs were a little harder to negotiate with. With that, Ha-Dûna enjoyed the sensation that would be known as the peace pipe.



”PHEW!” whooped Gibbou and flung her hands victoriously in the air as she fell back on her dragon cushion. She had done it. She had made the world a better place. She should drink like this more often - it made her such a great goddess! The fatigue of the dragon’s meal, the alcohol and the power spent began to sink in, and Gibbou nearly fell asleep. However, in the last minute, she jumped out of the dragon’s grasp and made herself another drink.

”No, no, party ain’t over yeeeet!” She threw her arms in the air and screamed. ”GO HARD OR GO HOME!”

And hard, she went.




In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Letters from the Duke of Zhou 2 - The Fisherman from Qi


To the respected duke of the Song warrens,

It is a grand pleasure to write to you once again, fellow duke - it brings me great joy to hear that all is once again well and harmonious in the warrens of Song. It is my most humble wish to be of service to our next generation of leaders, and to hear about your successful attempt to quell the unrest among your lightfurs is truly music to these long, graying ears.

Now, that being said, you mentioned in your previous letter that you have had some trouble with a certain scholar-gentleman in your employ - one named Master Gu Xuanyi, if I am not mistaken. According to your description, you sent him to oversee the corn harvest; as of now, he has yet to put the peasants under his command to work on weeding the corn, stating that he did not weed his crops last year, and the harvest was ten times that of usual - no matter your threats or bribes, he refuses to budge.

If you would allow me, I wish to draw upon another story that describes a situation similar to this one. You may have heard it; it is a known tale: There once was a fisherman from the warren of Qi. One day, the fisherman was out by the river near the warren, rod in hand, hoping to reap the water’s bounty as usual. Then, as suddenly as lightning from clear sky, a large, fat salmon skipped out of the water and collided with a nearby stone, knocking itself adaze and quickly suffocating as a result. The fisherman saw this and broke his rod over his knee, deciding that he would instead watch the water in hopes that more fish would follow the salmon’s clumsy example. However, no such event occurred again, and the fisherman was laughed out of the warren of Qi.

If I may offer my opinion, it seems that Master Gu Xuanyi and the fisherman of Qi are of one mind - having witnessed a miraculous event, they are confident that it will repeat itself, despite the astronomically small odds that it will. Of course, the chance is there, but stories like this one help us realise miracles beyond the norm are just that - miracles. Master Gu may have seen one grand harvest despite his dislike for weeding, but it is indeed a much-too-commonly observed fact that weeds among your corn generally outcompete the corn and lead to a poor harvest.

My advice to you, my esteemed friend, is to share this tale with Master Gu. Give him a chance to redeem himself in light of reflecting upon its message - I trust that a scholar-gentleman such as him is in your employ for a reason; however, should he fail to realign his path, I recommend you replace him with someone more capable. The warren’s corn crops and the welfare of its light- and darkfurs must come before the social standing of a stubborn man, after all.

I once again wish you great luck in all your endeavours, and pray my advice was helpful and satisfactory. May the gods forever grant you fortune.

With great respect,

Duke Kong Rui of Zhou.



In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


Gibbou

Feat @tuujaimaa


The gates to Antiquity in the Hall of a Thousand Mirrors were, briefly, opened. A mysterious sheen returned to that dulled glass, liquid aurum spilling from its depths and pooling just beneath its surface--and from that glow came forth the physical form of the God of Truth, stepping outside its realm and into that communal space wherein the Gods could engage in acts of community and conversation. It rarely had a specific purpose for entering that realm--much of what it was required to do demanded its presence within its realm where it could coordinate and navigate the great morass of mortal perception--but, occasionally, it had cause to visit its divine kith and kin. Today was one such occasion: the God of Truth desired to speak with the Mother of the Moon, to rectify its past errors and to put into practice the newly found emotional context it had obtained from such a recent merging with its twin.

So, it stepped into that great ring of stone and directed its senses outwards, soon finding purchase upon Gibbou, apparently leaving Oraelia’s portal. It cast wordless intend towards her, beckoning her forth:

“Hail, Mother of the Moon. Might we speak privately? There is much I wish to discuss with you. There are errors I wish to correct.”

The moon goddess shot him a horrified stare and then kept moving as though she hadn’t seen him - or rather, as though she -had- seen him and was running away.

In that communal space Firinn did not have the full extent of its deific powers available to it, and was unable to simply arrest Gibbou to prevent her from feeling--and then, it thought, that even if it could do such a thing it would perhaps send the wrong message. Deciding for a more conservative approach, it attempted diplomacy once more:

”I wish to apologise. Our last interaction was coloured by an insensitivity that is native to my condition while alone--without the emotional context of my twin, I am incapable of understanding mortal feelings, never mind divine ones. If you do not wish to talk I will not force you.”

Though it did not speak, the knowledge of its words--and its sincere regret at how their previous interaction had ended--would simply be something Gibbou could feel, as if through waves in the air.

Gibbou stopped, eyes downcast and fists curled tight. While she didn’t face him, she offered words like an olive branch. ”Do you understand this context better now? After two thousand years?”

”Without being directly linked to Aicheil, it is difficult--but our realms are linked, and so therein I have an easier time of it. It is not in my nature to feel, but two thousand years have provided… context, yes.” The words were challenging for it to communicate--as if there were some inborn resistance to the condition of feeling--but it pushed through that feeling regardless, motivated by the newly contextualised remorse and compassion from its most recent interaction with its twin.

Warily, Gibbou turned around to face the Truth God, though her eyes refused to meet with wherever theirs would have been. ”Truth be told, I did realise that you were only trying to help me back then. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I’m sorry.” She sucked sheepishly on a tooth. ”So… Privately, was it?”

”It would appear, then, that we may both obtain closure after so long. Please, follow.”

With that said, Firinn turned and disappeared once again through the mirror that represented the portal to its realm, vanishing through the glass as if it had never existed within Antiquity at all. Spread out before that entrance there would be a seemingly endless corridor of mirrors on all sides, each containing a memory or a feeling from the many, many mortal lives that had been lived in the gods’ long absence from Galbar. They were currently scattered, unorganized, random tidbits of information that Firinn had sorted--but as soon as Gibbou walked through that portal they would reflect her, and mortal memories of interactions with her. The draug, Twilight, the Druids of the Long Stride--each would have memories and feelings playing themselves out behind an infinite sheet of glass. Firinn would manifest on the floor, beneath her feet--taking the place of her reflection within this hallowed realm.

”I have only ever sought to help, but I did so in a way that would help me--not a way that would help you. I wish to rectify that mistake, if you still require assistance, now and at any point--I wish only for us to be… friends, I think the term is?”

Gibbou was absorbed by an image of Twilight, regret and discomfort clouding her expression. ”Yeah…” she mumbled absent-mindedly. ”Yeah, friends is right.” She finished looking at the mirage. ”Did you and your brother discuss these feelings? Do you feel like you understand now? What a friend is?” She followed deeper into the tunnel.

”Hm. I… have seen every interaction of every mortal since my birth. Each time one of our precious charges has called another friend I have seen that interaction, understood the context, made sense of what is. To understand and to feel are not alike--but in this moment, replete with the grace of the Two-as-One, I know what it means to feel that kinship. I have never seen you interact, but I imagine it must be as you and your own twin feel?”

As the echoes of its intent reverberated throughout the halls the images on the mirrors changed, shifting from those that knew the name Gibbou to those that declared their friendship for one another--friends becoming lovers, friends standing up for one another, friends comforting one another through loss. The totality of that mortal experience splayed itself upon those panes of crystal-glass, echoing within and around one another like the threads of a great tapestry.

”What I had meant to say before, the meaning I had intended to give you… It is that mistakes do not and cannot define you. Cruelty, it seems, is a necessary consequence of freedom--of life. That some of your creatures act cruelly is not a mistake, but a consequence of their Truth--of the collective Truth. It… is not your fault. It cannot be your fault, for you sought only to create and not to control. Does that… make sense?”

”It does, it does,” mumbled the moon goddess back as she squatted down to look at one particular reflection of two childhood friends confessing their feelings to one another. ”I know it’s not my fault -personally- that dovregubbes ravage the countryside a few times a year, or that askeladds keep hexing chickens to lay stone eggs. I do not -make- vampires drink the blood of innocents. I did have a considerable hand in making them as they are, though, and -that’s- what brings me guilt.” She gestured to an image of a friend comforting another. ”Even mortals will blame themselves for something they haven’t necessarily done themselves - and it takes time to realise that it both was and wasn’t your decisions’ fault that what happened, happened.” She stood up and shrugged. ”Took me two thousand years anyway - I’m not even over it, to be fair. Talking to Orey helps, but emotions like these are hard to get rid of. That’s why I reacted the way I did back then.”

”We… are not them. They are, as I understand it, all burdened by a shard of sadness. Each of them knows that it must all end one day, and that each day lived is a day they can never get back. We Divines are eternal, and cannot rightly conceive of our own endings--when you endowed your avatar with a shard of your soul, you replaced that burden of sadness. Now, little Twilight lives freely and without that fear of death--but a mortal mind is not meant to comprehend eternity. He will soon realise how much you mean to him, and how much what he may do will mean to those around him.”

Firinn took a moment to pause, no longer walking beneath Gibbou as her reflection, and manifesting itself within the Hall of a Thousand Mirrors physically. Its mantle-claws wove themselves into hands, and its body shimmered with an aureate lustre for a moment before rippling out and shifting until only the appearance of Gibbou remained.

”It is my nature to reflect. As I am now, connected to you and my Twin both, I can feel the echoes of what you felt. It is not the same, but… it is hard. I am sorry that I did not understand. I am sorry that I burdened you with something you did not deserve. Let us think upon the fact that it brought us together, here, in this moment--let us be thankful that it paved the way for things to be as they are now, and not dwell upon the pain that they caused.”

It reached out its two hands, opening itself wide, as if to offer the Mother of the Moon a hug. Gibbou immediately backed away with her palms presented. ”Woah, okay! Okay. Don’t, don’t rush on ahead, Fìrinn - hugs are between friends.”

It paused, as if dwelling on the thoughts and the refusal to reconcile with that most intimate and connective of gestures, and looked around. It turned its head towards an image of Twilight upon re-entering Galbar and the great weave, and reached a hand out to touch that mirror gently, as if in thought. After a moment it recoiled, as if remembering an echo of that interaction, and turned back to Gibbou, looking her in the eyes from within an illusion of her own form.

”... forgive me. You are so like them, and yet so… not. It is hard to know where one ends and another begins--it is hard to capture the nuance of that fragility between panes of glass and stolen images, and yet that is all I have. I will make mistakes… we will make mistakes.”

Gibbou cast a sideways glance back at the entrance. She drew a short breath through the nose and spoke, ”Your brother tried the exact same thing, y’know - hugging. It’s not, it’s not that I don’t like it, don’t get me wrong. When I said…” She sighed. ”’Hugs are between friends’... I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Hugs are, well, hugs are for friends who know each other well - like me and my sister, for example! The two of us, weee…” Her fingers exchanged between pointing at herself and at the reflection of herself. ”... We are still getting there, y’know?”

”Hm. I understand--it is… Mortalkind has a linear understanding of time. Events happen in concurrence, one after the other, like footsteps in the sand.” Firinn gesticulated to illustrate its point, the mirrors around it showing the timeline of a single human’s birth, right up until their death. It stretched on and on around them, a great circle, each window arrayed in perfect order.

”Yet we gods are not limited to such a perspective. I see all at once--catching up with what was, processing what is, and gazing into the Worldweave above to determine what will be. I do not think… no, we do not perceive time in the same manner at all. You, by choice or design, perceive it as they do--perhaps to better fulfil your purpose as a protector. I, to fulfil mine, see so much at once--it is an infinite series of circles, spilling out from one another and into one another all at once. It has been two thousand years since we last spoke for you, but in my understanding of time, it…”

Firinn cut itself off, trying to find the feelings and thoughts to express what it meant without forcing an unwelcome perspective upon Gibbou. It stood there, motionless, for seconds stretching on towards infinity, the lights around it sparking and flaring as if to signify the deep contemplation it was in. After an indeterminable amount of time it spoke again:

”is like living through the entirety of every mortal’s life all at once, seeing the infinite realities of what they could do, what they could be, what they hope and imagine and dream. That is the influence of Aicheil, and it is like being so full of sensation that the self peels away, cast to the wind. It could have been mere moments ago that we spoke, or uncountable eternities--I can never know what it feels like to you, even now.”

”I don’t envy you, Fìrinn…” sighed Gibbou. ”I don’t envy you one bit. You and your brother received tasks that I can’t even begin to wrap my head around.” One of the mirrors showed her moon and she walked over and gestured to it. ”My moon’s simple, yet so sweet and beautiful in its own right. It exists, and there’s no doubt about it. The night’s the same - absence of my sister’s sun, the planet’s own shadow cast upon itself - it’s simple and beautiful. Now truth? Dreams? No… Whether by design or choice - I’m not sure either, honestly - I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it.”

Firinn nodded along as Gibbou expressed her thoughts, mirroring her actions and feelings with its own. It, too, walked up to a mirror as she did--but beckoned forth a different scene: druids resting peacefully beneath the silvery opalescence of that great orb in the sky, safeguarded from harm and worry.

”Mortal life, in its entirety, is so precious… So valuable. It is all that matters, and it is just a single thread in the great weave of creation. I do all that I do, endure all that I must, for their sake: that their lives might continue to play out. That their every action might never be forgotten--that there will be one, in the end, who witnessed and remembered it all. It is what I was made to do. There can be no sadness in the realisation and fulfillment of my purpose. I… failed to give you that same serenity. I shall never forget that. But now, perhaps, I might make amends.”

Its hands unwove themselves from the gossamer blanket of that reflected image, becoming the claw-tips that they were meant to be. They punctured a single pane of glass, creating a ripple within, and held it tightly until it glowed a beautiful gold--and then released that ripple along all of the mirrors within that great hall, flooding the space with visions of shimmering light and colour.

”I have watched with keen interest the comings and goings of your vampires. The nature of your punishment, the effects it has had upon Truth.” Firinn began, moving forwards and stepping out from the refracted shell of Gibbou’s appearance, letting it fade away into the background as it took back its own true form.

”Such justice is not a concept I preside over, but those Vampires who exist have all, each in their own way, committed an egregious crime against the nature of Truth: they despoil too much, rend the weave around them in vast and irreparable cuts. To bring them back in line with Truth, to contain their wanton bloodlust and set the greater Truth to rights, I offer thee this: Each night, as the hunger sets in, each of the accursed shall remember vividly the final moments of those they slaked their thirst ‘pon. They shall remember those whose lives they have taken from the deceased’s perspective and shall consider what their ambition has wrought. Does this sound agreeable to thee, Mother of the Moon?”

Gibbou blinked. ”You mean, they’d have to relive all the terrible things they’ve done every time they get hungry?”

”Just so. They shall consider their power, and realise that its price can only be measured in equal suffering to that which they have caused.”

”Hmm… Nnng… See, on one hand, I’m not all about having people relive their trauma over and over again. That’s really harsh on the head, after all. Though on the other haaand... Her eyes narrowed. ”... It would serve them right for what they’ve done. I say you can go on ahead with that! Sounds pretty much just like an extension of what I had planned for them, honestly,” she added with a smirk.

”I cannot say that I would have created such creatures, but… they have deterred many a mortal from fratricide or worse. Cruelty and pain are simply facts of the world--and though these vampires are born from those lamentable traits, this curse has prevented more harm than it has caused. I have collected many thoughts of ambitious murder, and even more so of the price that such an action incurs--though it may not seem so without proper scrutiny, mortalkind is safer for your and Fe’ris’ efforts. I thank you both for your service, and am only happy to assist.”

Firinn beckoned forth an image of a vampire to one of the many mirrors, and then into that scene illuminated the moon with a potent silver light. It placed its true hand upon that moon, shifting its hues from silver to red to gold, and then withdrew. The image faded away into nothingness, as did all of the others--before returning to the great panoply of mortal lives being lived and catalogued.

”It is done. Is there aught else I might assist you with, Mother of the Moon? I am happy to do my part for those I would call friend--even if that does not extend to the closeness so associated with these ‘hugs’.”

Gibbou looked through a reflection, where one vampire was kneeling and screaming its sorrow to the moonlit heavens. While she knew she shouldn’t feel that way, there was something perversely satisfying about seeing it. ”Yes, this is good. Hopefully, even the most degenerate of vampires will now realise the horror of their actions.” She offered Fìrinn a smile. ”Hey… Thanks. I’ll be honest, I--... When you invited me in for a chat, I was… Skeptical. However, I see now that you really have changed.” She extended an open palm forward. ”I think that’s enough for me to consider you an, uh, a good acquaintance!”

”I…” the God of Truth started, before mirroring Gibbou’s action and pressing its mantle-claw, now an open palm, forward--though stopping short of any actual contact between them. ”I knew, then, that change was coming. I… made the mistake of believing that I could in some way, resist change--that if I ensured my purpose could continue in my absence I might be spared that unforeseen calamity. Naive, I suppose, in hindsight--but only through that failing did I become a more realised and truthful version of myself. There is much to lament about how those events unfolded, how our truths intersected… what I am trying to say is that no matter how much the events of the past sucked, they brought us to where we are now. That is something to be thankful for.”




In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Partners in Trade

Feat. @Zurajai


It was the first time Pepper got to join her father down to the docks. She’d usually be left back home to help mom and little Parfum manage the herbary, or she would be tending to Musky, their old baqualo cow. Today, however, was different, for she could finally join dad to the coast market to sell off their produce. She had saddled Musky with two large baskets, each filled to the brim with one of two types of herb. Their farm wasn’t large, but they did honest work for honest pay at the market, selling dried and fresh parsley and thyme to all who wished to buy. Although, today was different - they weren’t going to Fragrance this time, no; it was the docks!

“Hey, dad? Who’ll we meet at the docks?”

Her father, a small, field-savvy elf of eighty-four years by the name of Vinnigar, gave his chin a pensive rub. “Well, if we’re lucky, we’ll run into the Tama’Pele - they use a lot of parsley in their medicine against tooth aches, as well as a fair amount in a type of oil they put on their skin so it doesn’t get too dry in the sun.”

“Woah! Really? Will I get to meet one?”

Her father grinned. “Maybe, maybe.”

It took them one hour and twenty minutes from their herbary down to the coastal market, passing out through the Gates of Fragrance on the way, pulling Musky through the silent crowd of commuters from the outside forests bringing fruit and grains into the town to sell on the square before King Safron’s hut. Murmurs rumbled through the crowd occasionally, and Pepper marveled at the deafening sound of the town - in the distance, she heard unfamiliar ting-ting-tings. She tracked down the sound to somewhere beyond the river of flesh running in and out the gate and pointed.

“Dad, dad! What’s that light over there? The one with the weird noise?” She looked up and lost some of her enthusiasm, for she saw her father scowl at the flickering flame at the source of the sound.

“Those are whitesmiths, Pep. We don’t mingle with their sort.”

Pepper frowned. “Why’s that, daddy?”

“You hear that sound?”

Wooooossssh… Ting-ting-ting!

Pepper nodded.

“That sound’s way worse up close. We’re very far away right now, but up close, it’s way, way worse - so bad that it breaks the Great Peace.”

Pepper gasped. “What? But you’ve said you shouldn’t do that!”

Vinnigar nodded. “Yes, Pep, and it’s really important that you don’t. King Safron doesn’t like scheming little nelflings who make a ruckus, y’know.” He ruffled her hair. “Okay?”

Pepper giggled. “Yeah, okay.”



An hour later, they were at the coast. The market was small today: Rosey the buffalo hunter was there like always, selling her pemmican, suet and buffalo jerky, and Cumine the perfumer stood beckoning customers with small, uncorked flasks of oozing smells. There were also numerous akua of the Tama’Pele, selling stockfish, fresh fish, seaweed and many other bounties of the ocean. The market was terribly noisy and smelly in spite of its size, though - moreso than the Gates of Fragrance commuters could even hope to ever be. Vinnigar stuffed his hand into a skin pouch on his waist and pulled out a handful of raw cotton, handing it to Pepper. “Here.”

Pepper eyed the cotton curiously and gave it a sniff. It smelled a little musty. “What’s this for, daddy?” Vinnigar tapped on her shoulder to grab her attention. He pulled a handful of his own into two dots and stuffed them into his large ears. He gestured for Pepper to do the same. After giving the cotton a suspicious look, she did as instructed and put it in her ears. She looked up at her father and, for the first time, heard his dry, squeaky and untrained voice.

“These make the trip a little nicer on the ears. The Tama’Pele have a slightly different view on the Great Peace, see.”

“How so, daddy?”

“Well…” His sentence was interrupted by a loud call of an akua merchant selling clams and oysters from a basket she was carrying around. “... It’s different. Now help your old man get these baskets off ol’ Musky.”

“What?!” said Pepper back.

“I said--” The merchant once again shouted her wonderous offer of oysters and how amazing they were with a squeeze of fresh lemon. Vinnigar realised talking was out of the question and beckoned for Pepper to help him. Pepper quickened to action and soon, they had set up a blanket on the ground with samples of parsley and thyme, as well as some small samples of rosemary and sage, all poured out onto wicker plates. Vinnigar smirked down at Pepper and said, “Watch this, kid.” Pepper watched with bated breath as her father took a deep breath and, to her surprise, shouted, “Aroha, come one, come all! Vinnigar and daughter’ve brought fresh parsley and thyme for your remedies and cookeries!” He even clapped his hands, and even through the cotton, Pepper winced slightly at the offensive sound. There was almost something fascinating about breaking the laws like this - thank the gods that this was outside the Great Peace’ juristiction.

“Aroha, ruhe,” came the familiar voice of one of Vinnigar’s most frequent customers. Though they rarely met with one another, the pair had created quite a rapport between one another. The akua stepped forward, chest bare but for the straps from his fishing pack, while his bright blue, purple, and red-tinged scales shone in the light. Though he was clearly akuan by all accounts, it was obvious from his facial structure that his ancestors had been among the Night Elves taken beneath the sea.

“Good see you got da kolohe here, ah?” he said with a friendly smile crossing his visage, clearly lowering his voice intentionally after many dealings with his Night Elven kin while waving at the elven child, “I tell you, ruhe, you no know wha’ lolo kina guys you got coma down-down hiya, ruhe. Good havin’ truss’ with you down hiya, dats fo’ shoah. Nawh, what’cha got fo me an’ mine dis fine evenin’?”

The Akua nearly began perusing the wares out before catching himself, seemingly flabbergasted by a sudden realization! “Oh! Hooo, brah! Where mah manners? Likkle kolohe no know what kine she sayin’ an’ seeing. Best be calling me Uncle Taika, eh, likkle ruhe. Yo’ fadah an’ I go way-way back.”

With his honor appropriately sated, Taika seemed to move on with his focus. He tossed down his back from off his shoulders revealing all manner of ocean-borne goodies while simultaneously throwing a sidelong glance at everything Vinnigar had for trade. The Night Elf grinned, stood up and squeezed his hand.

“Aroha, Taika! You sure sound and smell lovely this morning. Come to grab some more parsley for old ma?” Pepper, meanwhile, sat on the carpet still and marvelled at what she could make out of Taika’s form and texture.

“Das’ right der on da money, ruhe, plusa few tings heya and dey. Nada mention how dem ruhe down watah-side real lolo fo’ land-weeds.”

Taika shoveled out a number of products from his woven sack, planting them down squarely in front of the Night Elf. Collected were a number of shelled molluscs, primarily large scallops, as well as a decent amount of pretty corals and other ocean bits. A few crabs came clacking out of the bag only for Taika to place a rock on top of each to keep them from scrabbling off. Content with his work, he turned back up towards Vinnigar.

“So, watcha thinkin’ heya on dis, ruhe? How much’a willin’ to part wit?”

“Hmm… I could part with two xhoich for two crabs and eight scallops. What do you say, ruhe?”

Taika seemed to bounce on the balls of his feet, a peculiar movement that many Akua often did when they were excited or pleased; in the water it seemed far more graceful. He grabbed up from his bag the correct amount of shellfish, having never been one to haggle with Vinnigar. Their trading relationship, after all, was built on a level of amicability and friendship that Taika had no interest in pressuring. Besides, it was just good business this way. With that he coiled up the collecting in a tight wrapped of seaweed twine and thumped it over towards the Night Elf.

“Aya, thata do it jus’ fine, ruhe; fill yo’ belly real good, eh? Fe’ mah little niece heya, I trow in one moa’ creb, real tasee’ n’ good fo’ yu’, yeh? Make you grow big n’ strong, like yo’ uncle Taika, eh, likkle kolohe ruhe.” Taika seemed to beam at the child, obviously taking to the Akuan concept of Uncle and Auntie very seriously. It was his job, after all, to treat the child right. What sort of uncle would he be if he didn’t give his ruhe’s kids free things, anyway? Satisfied, he bagged up his own goods and tossed them in his pack.

“Oh, whakawhetai, ruhe - whakawhetai,” thanked Vinnigar and handed the crustaceans and mollusks to little Pepper. “Peps, sweety, take the empty parsley sack, run over to the water and fill it up, would you? No, the other o-- yeah, that one.” The girl ran off through the market to fulfill her task. “So, ruhe, anything else you’d like? My wife just harvested the sage this morning - it’s fresh and would go wonderful with some fish, y’know.”

“Yeh, yeh, ruhe, whakawhetai, eh? Jus’ throw a little o’ dat sage thay into my beg an’ we’ll do it jus’ fine, call it even-hapa.”

Taika gladly took the sage and wrapped it up properly as well, making sure to not let it get wet just yet as he tightly bagged it. With that, he plopped the bundle into his knapsack and threw it back over his back. As always, Taika hit Vinnigar first on his surface runs to make sure the Night Elf had the best pick of his goods, but he still had more to trade. They bumped fists in traditional Akuan manner before Taika smacked Vinnigar on the shoulder in a friendly show of familiarity. Vinnigar returned the gesture.

“You got a good family up heah, ruhe. If you evah learn t’ hold yo’ breath long-long time, you come on down an’ have suppah with me an’ mine, eh? Till next time, ruhe; aroha!”

Vinnigar clicked his tongue twice in approval. “For sure, Taika - I’ll keep practicing for that time. Until next time; aroha!” With that, the two parted ways and Vinnigar turned his attention to his next customer.



In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
To Become a Druid

Part 1: Taken from Home


Kaal’zar’s eyes were overflowing with tears. Of course, that wasn’t uncommon for the kids her age who were taken from their parents by travelling druids. She had been curt in her request, the druid - knocked on the door of Kaal’zar’s house and said to her parents: “May the gods smile upon your blessed household. I am Cer Tess - the stars have guided us to your home in search of our new apprentice.” Few more words had been said before her parents had sent her off with her, as well as the three other equally sobbing children she already had collected. Kaal’zar didn’t understand why she had to leave, nor why her parents had been so quick to give her up. The morning had started off as any other - with Kaal’zar joining her older brother to tend the meagre corn patch her family owned. What happened?

She eyed a young boy next to her. He looked skinnier than even her, and about twice as filthy from travel. His breath was ragged and weak and Kaal’zar could understand why - it had been a while since their last break, and she hadn’t been walking for days like them. She shuffled a little closer as they walked. “H-hey. What’s your name?” she whispered. The look she received could have wilted flowers - a vocal response was far too much to ask. Kaal’zar turned discretely to look behind her - the other two children looked similar. With quicker steps, she reached Cer Tess leading the group and pulled at her robe. The druid stopped and turned around, looking first straight ahead before adjusting her view angle for children. “Yes, my daughter?”

Kaal’zar was only eight years old - she hadn’t had the chance to meet many druids yet. It thus stung a little when this complete stranger referred to her as her daughter. “You’re not my mommy,” she hissed back venomously. Cer Tess sighed.

“My child, it’s merely a form of address. What was your name again?” She knelt down, and the other children sat down to take a rest. The boy Kaal’zar had tried to talk to earlier kept a close eye on her every action.

“Kaal’zar,” she replied valiantly. The druid nodded.

“Do you know why you’ve been chosen?” she asked her. Kaal’zar grit her teeth.

“No! Why have I been chosen? Where’s mommy? Why did daddy and her just give me away? Where’s Kaal’bor?”

“All in due time, my child,” Cer Tess replied patiently. Her whole stance, voice and being indicated that she had done this more times than one could count. “You’re lucky - we’re close to our destination. All will be explained there.”

As she got up, Kaal’zar screamed, “No! I wanna know -now-! Where are we going?!” Some of the other children echoed the request, approaching the druid with impatient steps. Cer Tess sighed again.

“The stars guided us to you, our new apprentices - you have been chosen by the gods to become druids!”

The two children who hadn’t realised or heard this yet all gasped, more bepuzzled than relieved. One of them, a boy, raised his hands, looking a little more confused that the others. “B-but pa oh’ways said I was gon’ be a lumberjack like ‘iiiim!”

Cer Tess sighed. “The archdruid will be clearer in her explanation. She will answer your every question. Now come on.” As the lady began to walk, she found that Kaal’zar remained defiantly where she had stood. She sighed again, this one containing hints of a groan, and walked over. “What’s wrong, my child?”

“I’m not your child! I wanna go home! This isn’t fun!”

“My dear, your new home is just beyond the hill over there, now come on.”

“NOOOO! DON’T WANNAAA-uh? Urrrgh…” Kaal’zar dropped to the ground with a snore and rolled every so slightly down the slope before Cer Tess caught her and picked her up, carrying her in her arms as she returned to lead the group.

“That makes two this year… Kids these days...” The other children glared enviously at Kaal’zar being carried, but a one of them felt odd cases of déjà vu. “Will I be able to do that?” mumbled one of them as they went on.

The journey went on for another thirty to forty-five minutes, as the “hill” Cer Tess had described, turned out to be a little higher up than expected. On top was a large, grassy plateau, sporting a few tents and huts, even one made of stacked flat stones. The hamlet was humble in every sense of the word, with roughly ploughed patches of grain whisking on the plateau edges in the evening wind. At the centre of this small settlement, however, was a great, moss-grown dolmen, surrounded by white-robed humans and night elves. Next to the dolmen, specifically in its sunset shade, stood another group of four children. These were night elves, and their supervisor, a man of their own kind with thick locks of midnight hair, was handing out patches of moss for the children to put in their ears. The human children all cast sideways glances at the elves, who returned the gesture. While Kaal’zar still fumed over being taken from her home, the sight of these creatures momentarily pulled her attention from those thoughts. This was the first time Kaal’zar saw a night elf child, and only the second time she’d seen night elves at all - her father had once gotten in an argument with one of them during a stag hunt, but apart from that, she hadn’t seen any others. She approached and pulled at Cer Tess’ robe.

“Cer Tess? Why are those night elves here?”

“Why, they’re here for the same reason as you, my child - they’ve been chosen. Four elves, four humans - eight in all, as homage to the great gods.”

“But why? Why not just humans?”

“Or just elves?” came another remark.

Cer Tess pointed to the dolmen with her staff. “It’s to maintain a balance, see - nightkind and daykind haven’t always gotten along around here, so in order to ensure peace is upheld, we druids must ensure that we can always function as a diplomatic bridge between all peoples of the mountain - both for those who live on it and in it. This dolmen, the Gudlach, is a symbol of this cooperation.”

The four children stared at the monument, trying to see what was so special about it. None of them could ask any more questions, however, before an old crone raised her tree branch staff and shook it scoldingly. “Cer Tess! You’re late!”

Cer Tess stopped and bowed as deeply as she could. “Forgive me, Volv Eaoir - we were delayed.”

“Dang right, you were! By a day, almost! As always, Cer Cayn came ahead of you - why can’t you be more like him, huh?” The other druids around the old crone sighed their peace, while the night elf overseeing the elven children looked to be discomforted by the praise. Cer Tess was silent for a moment.

“I will do my best, Volv Eaoir.”

“Pweh. Sure you will. Alright, children, gather around now! Come on, come on, we haven’t got all evening.” While Cer Tess brought the human children over, Cer Cayn translated the message into what Kaal’zar could only presume was some kind of elvish. It had a wide selection of aspirated consonants, lots of hissing and only three vowels, from what she could hear. There was a very distinct lack of unaspirated consonants, though, save for the occasional d and g. The night elf had a funny voice, though, Kaal’zar thought - squeaky and weird. It was as if he had the voice of a baby. She couldn’t help but giggle.

The old crone cleared her throat with thunderous gargling, silencing the humans and shocking the elves. One of the nelflings started whimpering and begged whisperously for support from Cer Cayn. “Welcome, all, to Godlach, the centre of druidism here in Laychsomun. This is where you’ll be staying for the next sixteen years.” Protests among the human children, and the nelflings as soon as the message was translated, were immediately crushed by the old crone’s draconic glare. “You will all be assigned to a mentor, and they will be with you for the first ten years. You will also get to know your peers - both daykind and nightkind - and you will learn each other’s strengths, weaknesses, songs and truths.”

“Sach-ak hsii k’ee-ar’loch k’ho?!” squeaked one of the nelflings, seemingly outraged. Volv Eaoir sneered at the remark.

“You will learn to love and appreciate each other in time. From now on, your only difference is that your schedules will be divided into day and night - apart from that, you are druids. Not nelflings and children - druids. Is that clear?” The nelfling who had spoken up looked away. The old crone approached and lowered herself to his level. “Cha-ee k’ho?” The nelfling nodded facing the ground. The old crone scoffed and returned to her spot under the dolmen.

The lumberjack’s son raised his hand - Kaal’zar blinked at him. Volv Eaoir groaned. “I don’t recall saying any of you could ask questions…”

“Please, ma’am, it’s--”

“-Volv- Eaoir to you, mouse,” the old crone spat back and the boy and the other children all shrank by a head. With teary eyes, the boy repeated:

“S-sorry, Volv Eaoir, didn’t mean te…”

“Didn’t mean to what?!” the old crone continued. One of her colleagues placed a hand on her shoulder. “Volv Eaoir, please, he’s only--”

“I don’t care what he’s onlying! Druids don’t back down when met with resistance! How’ll boys like him stop the outbreak of clan feuds and tribal war if he cannot handle a simple old lady?!” She had to be held back by her colleagues as she tried to run at the boy, staff waving from side to side.

Cer Tess tried her best to shut out the chaos and kneeled next to the boy, who had fallen to his knees to cry. Kaal’zar, meanwhile, observed the nelflings grimacing and sneering at the loudness of the humans. “It’s okay, my son, it’s okay,” Cer Tess whispered to him and took him in an embrace. The boy, though initially reluctant, accepted her slowly, and the druid whispered to him, “There, there… What did you want to ask? I can ask it for you, if you’d like.”

“I-I-I jusht… Sniff! … I jusht wanted to ask when we guh-get those super powers… Oo-hoo…”

Cer Tess pecked a kiss on the top of his head. “Alright, let me ask for you.” She turned to Volv Eaoir while still holding the boy and asked. The old crone, who had just calmed down from her tantrum, scoffed with the pierce of an arrow.

“Alright, -one- question more before the rest of the initiation; this was coming up next anyway… Impatient brats… Listen carefully - and if any of you start something anew for this, you won’t get dinner for a week!” Motivation properly shattered, the children merely looked to the ground as a response. Volv Eaoir nodded her approval. “Know this - we will not spend hours and maybe even days in prayer to call forth Hir just to empower gullible little snifflings. No, no. You’ll have to -earn- it!” She pointed her staff at the sky. “When your training has reached its tenth year, and you are well-versed in the gospels of the Eight, the Worldsong of Mich-all, the geography of this land and the stories of the thousand peoples that inhabit it…” She leaned in, eyes narrow, serpentine slips. “... Only then will you be given your power.”

The plateau was silent, except for some crickets. After she felt the blanket of hopelessness had packed itself tightly enough around the initiates, Volv Eaoir tapped the butt of her staff against the mountainous ground underneath the dolmen. “Now, form a line, all, and you’ll be given your new names. Learn them well and forget your old ones - no one will remember you by them anymore.”

Kaal’zar raised her hand. The old crone drew a long, sharp breath. “... What?”

“Will we ever get to see mommy and daddy again?”

The old crone seemed to glare at Cer Tess as though she hoped she would catch fire. “... We are your family now. Starting tomorrow, you will learn this. Now form a line!” Kaal’zar and many of her peers knew not how to even process this concept, so they didn’t react much as they were lined up before the old crone. While the first child, a nelfling girl to be exact, as well as everyone else, half expected the old crone to name her ‘Garbage’ and toss her aside. However, Volv Eaoir sat down and began to drone a song that seemed to go on forever. Meanwhile, one of her companions who had held her back earlier turned to the stars, wagging his staff from side to side; another knelt down to the ground and placed her palms against it as she started to sing along with the old crone; a third stared into a puddle by the westmost foot of the dolmen - stared hard, too, as though he saw the secrets of the universe on the other side; a forth was sat tossing fish bones in a bowl; and finally, a fifth was running between the eastern edge and western edge of the plateau, as though chasing the setting sun and greeting the rising moon. Cer Tess and Cer Cayn gently pushed the first nelfling up to the crone, and she stood there shivering before the woman’s blind, nefarious glare.

“Fina,” was all she said.

“Sok?” replied the nelfling bepuzzled. The crone growled and Cer Cayn gently pulled her aside and whispered loudly through the moss her ears: “Hso ‘Fina’ chol’loch.” Before the nelfling could complain about her new name, she was pulled aside to make way for the next in line, the boy Kaal’zar had tried to speak to on the road.

“Gion,” said the crone through her song. The boy nodded and stepped aside. Next up was Kaal’zar, rubbing her hands together nervously.

“I don’t wanna--”

“Pia.”

Pia blinked. No, this wasn’t right. She was Kaal’zar! Daughter of Kaal’terk and Prol’zar, sister of Kaal’bor. She built up her protest, but Cer Tess pulled her aside with a knowing expression on her face. Pia felt the tears come back. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t--

“Call.”

Pia looked over. Call was a tall nelfling, built well for one of their age. He had no doubt come from a hunter family. He didn’t seem particularly pleased with the arrangement, either, and stomped off to join the rest of the named.

“Tolk.” The lumberjack’s son.

“Chass.” A crying nelfling girl.

“Logo.” A pale, sickly-looking human girl.

“Iro.” A skinny nelfling, likely the youngest in a family of poor farmers.

The old crone finally opened her eyes again. Her companions came panting back to the dolmen, especially the runner. The children looked uncomfortably at one another and Volv Eaoir spoke, “You have been named in the presence of the Eight, as well as all the spirits of land, sea and sky. You will from now on only use these names - your old ones are forfeit, and to use them is considered a grave transgression of the rules atop Godlach. Starting tomorrow, you will begin your lessons.” She nodded. “Welcome, all, to your new life.”




In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
The Founding of Ha-Dûna


Fourteen years before the burning of Thyma, somewhere west in the Boreal Highlands.

Kaer Mirh rubbed his eyes intensely, as if trying to squeeze the exhaustion out of them. He hated watching the goats at night - not because he wasn’t fond of goats; in fact, he found them to be wonderful companions, giving wool, milk and, eventually, meat in exchange for protection and permission to nibble at the grass and hay. No, Kaer Mirh’s qualm was that watching the goats at night meant he wasn’t asleep, and he loathed the thought of disappointing the moon by not being asleep.

Of course, it was only fair that he’d watch them. His brother Hama had kept watch all day, after all, and he couldn’t very well ask his pregnant wife Tegan, who had been busy tending to their two daughters. He supposed he could’ve called in a favour from one of the six other families travelling with them, but they all had their own tasks to tend to, and that wouldn’t be solving the problem either way, since, in the end, someone would have to stay up during the night to watch the goats. At least he wasn’t without conversation partners, though…

A goat bleated a song to the grass, thanking it for a wonderful meal, while another was singing her kid a lullaby. The stones, including the one Kaer Mirh sat upon, all droned along with harmonically layered bass and baritone. In the distance, some owls tried their best to outperform their song. Tamed boreal stags droned a sombre blues about the qualms of being a pack animal. A beetle squeaked a high-pitched tune praising the flavour of goat dung. Kaer Mirh considered what it must be like to fall asleep without this constant flux of music buzzing in the background - he hadn’t know the sensation for many decades, and by now, he supposed a night without hearing the lovesong of the flora to the rain and morning dew would be a terrifying night indeed.

He yawned, waking up a nearby goat kid, which eyeballed him sourly. He rose up from his stone and did his round again, making certain all fifteen goats were present. A rush of wind brought the scent of salt and sea to his nostrils - he hadn’t been this far west before, and this smell was unfamiliar. He hadn’t smelt its likeness for decades, at least. He started counting, groggy eyes following an equally lazy finger pointing out the goats among the rocks atop the hill he stood.

Fourteen.

The dissonance in expectation fueled some quickness into his mind again and waking eyes jumped from goat to goat once more, verifying what they had just seen.

Fourteen again.

He sucked in a breath through the nose and sighed. They hadn’t had a single runaway goat for a week - of course there had to be one when it was finally his shift. Well, he could either spend all night looking for it… Or…

Been away for long, kid;
Momma miss ye so, kid;
Why won’t you come home, kid?
Home to mommy’s herd.


He stopped to listen. Some of the other goats woke up and sang to him:

Farseer, farseer, farseer kind -
Have we left a kid behind?


Kaer Mirh spun around and raised his hands in a calming manner.

Be not worried, goats of mine,
For I assure you: All is fine.
‘Left behind’ are words with strength;
He’s likely only skipped a length.
A blink or two and I’ll be back,
Regain whatever rest you lack.


With that, the goats slowly went back to sleep one by one. Kaer Mirh sighed his relief and continued down from the hilltop. He passed by some tents belonging to one of the other families travelling with him and then arrived at the border of a great forest. He looked over his shoulder at the tents and took a deep breath:

Little goat kid, are you here?
It’s your friend, the kind farseer -
I’ve come to bring you home to mom;
It’s past your bedtime, now come on.


Then, a faint, squeaking song replied:

Farseer kind, I’m over here!
I know I should be mother near,
But here I found this fancy stone -
I had to see it, ev’n alone!


Kaer Mirh took a deep breath and sighed. Then he entered into the woods, the trees humming a sleepy plea for them to quiet down. Advance was slow, as the druid had to tap around the ground with his staff to bypass the zig-zagging pattern of roots and rocks. An owl hooted curiously at him, and a porcupine spat curses from below as Kaer Mirh’s bark-shoed foot nearly stepped on it. The druid pondered for a moment whether to plead Gibbou for better eyes in the night, but he was already overstepping his welcome by walking around when he should be asleep. Last thing he should do would be to come over as insolent and ungrateful - especially on the road like this.

The forest was thickening and the trees grew taller. The scent of the sea, which by now grew rancid with rotting seaweed, was offensive to the nose. It was an aspect of Claroon, however, and thus had to be respected and loved. When he looked up through the canopy, he saw the moon’s wink grow clearer and clearer the deeper into the woods he came. Stepping over a few more roots, the stars peeked through, too, blinking and twinkling in a dance around the bright crescent moon.

You’re close now, farseer - I can hear!
Come now, come now, you must see!
This rock is godly essence near -
The Worldsong says just so to me!


Kaer Mirh stopped to listen. The thousand voices of trees, stones, stars and animals echoed the kid’s statement. They sang:

A stone a thousand ages old;
A wall of trees like World Tree mold;
A spot to gaze ‘pon every star;
The spray of oceans, never far;
Reflective puddles ‘round the stone,
The rose and white of moons do hone;
The Worldsong here is never done,
For here shines best the light of Sun.


As the verse came to a close, the spirits celebrated, and Kaer Mirh stepped into the clearing. He had seen the World Tree once, long, long ago - the trees weren’t even close to its height. Still, however, they were incredibly tall, taller than any tree he had ever seen in the highlands. Yet still, the stars and moon shone perfectly through the treetops - the whole night sky was visible above the clearing. Nearby, where he could see the foliage wasn’t as thick as the rest of the wall, he could hear the laps of the ocean licking at the beach not even two hundred paces away. Then, in the centre of the clearing, elevated on a slight rise and surrounded by spots of otherworldly clear water, was a large, sharp rock that arced towards the sky, upon which sat the goat kid, admiring the sky. Kaer Mirh approached, making certain not to step in any of the puddles along the way. He climbed onto the rock and sat himself down by the kid to join in on the stargazing. The kid bleated happily and drummed its cloven feet on the stone in excitement with a series of tak-tak-taks.

See, farseer - behold up high:
The finest plot of Galbar sky!


Certainly is, oh little goat.
From tallest tree to smallest mote,
All sights here are just divine!
Gods’ blessings, goat kid, what a find!


Kaer Mirh jumped to his feet, nearby tumbling forward as he hopped off the rock. He managed to skip over one of the tiny pools, but the hop finally made him lose his balance and roll down the small hill until his back crashed into a tree trunk. The kid skipped expertly down from the rock and hopped over, singing anxiously:

Farseer, farseer, are you alright?!
A fall like that, break bones, just might!


But Kaer Mirh only cackled, maniacally almost, waving his arms and legs around in the air as he tried to get back on his feet. Above, the moon was waning as the sun began to blink over the distant horizon. The druid finally regained his footing, kicking up mud and grass as his legs propelled him into a sprint back through the woods. The goat kid followed faithfully, and the songs of the woods followed the action with baited breath:

What now, what now?
The druid has run off!
With speed, his prow
T’wards camp just did blastoff!
Has he, this man,
Received a holy sign?
Perhaps this land
Has just become a shrine?


It took merely an hour for Kaer Mirh to return to camp, where the fourteen goats still laid peacefully, albeit now began to awaken from the ruckus. The kid bleated for its mother, who bleated back in a distracted manner as she eyed the druid run in full sprint from tent to tent, shouting for all to wake up. The kid hopped over to its mother and the two gently rammed heads in greeting. Eyeing the panting druid, the mother goat asked:

Pray tell, advent’rous son of mine -
Has this druid seen a sign?
He’s skipping ‘round like Creit the Ram
Waking every human, stag and lamb!


The kid skipped up and down in its excitement:

Mother dear, it’s quite the tale!
See, I heard the Worldsong’s hail,
And followed it to forests deep
Where stones of ages past did sleep.
I may be ‘llowing thoughts to run,
But I think our months-long journey’s done.


In the centre of the camp, groggy humans who had barely had time to put their clothes back on, rubbed their eyes as one. Morning mugs that believed they should’ve had at least an hour more of shut-eye affixed skeptical, even annoyed stares at Kaer Mirh, who was sporting a wicked mad grin in spite of his absolutely filthy, once-white robes. Being among his closest, his brother Hama stepped forth and spoke, “Mirh, what has you so worked up? We almost thought we were under attack when you came running, but we see neither any bandits nor bears to speak of. What is this about?”

“I have found it, my kinsmen!” He gestured to the surrounding highlands, elevations and flats of grass and stone, save for the forest behind him, appearing like an oasis in a desert. The coast below reddened in the light of dawn, and distant herds of wild highland deer skipped after their leading stag. Cool winds blew in from the north and made the children huddle closer to their mothers. “This will be our new home,” declared the druid.

The people looked around, some looking surprised, some skeptical; some satisfied, some outraged. “What’re we supposed to live off here? We know nothing of this place!” came a shout from the crowd. It wasn’t his own kin, but one of the other families.

“You said we were stopping here to rest before we continue!” came another shout. Kaer Mirh waved his hands calmingly.

“We wanted to travel west to escape Ketrefa’s expansion. We have travelled as far west as west goes - if we go further now, we will enter a land so different from what we know that we will likely be consumed by it.” He gestured to the surroudings again. “We are already almost a year’s journey from the Walled City. We are as safe here as we’ll ever be, once we get to know the lay of the land.” He pointed at the one who had shouted first. “Dairl, you and your clan used to work great fields out east, is that correct?”

Dairl, a man who could in every way be described as broad, was taken aback as he was pointed at. “W-well, yes, of course! We were gaardskarls for generations before those slavers burnt everything we had and took my cousin’s family! What about it?”

Kaer Mirh beckoned him up to the rise he stood on. Dairl followed, and as did the rest of the crowd, curious to see. Kaer Mirh pointed along the grasslain slope running down from the rise until it reached the sandy coast. It stretched as far as the eyes could see, containing both flatlands and highlands. The druid turned back to Dairl. “Could you and your kin work this soil, you think?”

The farmer’s temper subsided and he brought a ponderous hand to his brownbearded chin. “... Well… The slopes will be hard - it’s tough work to plow and sow in such stoney ground. The lowlands will be easier, though.”

“Can you do it?”

Dairl shot Kaer Mirh a glare. “What, you doubt the ability of a gaardskarl?! You better watch your tongue, or I’ll--”

“You’ll do what, exactly?” came a sharp snap from Hama behind Kaer Mirh, hand resting faithfully on his stone adze. Dairl’s sons saw the gesture and reached for their own tools, but Kaer Mirh raised his hands to them both.

“I will not have animosity between us when we’re -this- close to finding a new home! Dairl, forgive me - I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. What I meant was whether you and your kin would be willing do work this land if we are to settle here.”

Dairl scoffed and looked back over the land. Glares of challenge were still being exchanged between Dairl’s sons and Hama, who was now being backed up by his and Kaer Mirh’s cousins. As tensions began to spark, Dairl stuck out his hand in Kaer Mirh’s direction.

“We’re not doing it for you. We’ll turn this land into a garden to prove, once and for all, that we gaardskarls cannot be outmatched.”

Kaer Mirh smirked and raised a brow as he squeezed the hand. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Dairl rolled his eyes and rumbled back down to his camp along with his kinsmen. Kaer Mirh felt a prick on his shoulder and turned to see Tegan, his wife, belly protruding slightly underneath her humble leather clothes. She offered him a worried expression, now clearly visible under the rising sun, and spoke, “Mirh, I’m certain this land is as good as any other, but… -Why- exactly here? You know what happened to Ragsam and his family, right? When they ventured south? We haven’t heard from them since. What if…” She paused. “What if we’re too close to the Prairie?”

Kaer Mirh shook his head and put a hand on her shoulder. “It must be here, my love. There is no other choice. The Song sang thusly.”

Tegan sighed. “Mirh, you know I love you and trust you in everything, but… None of us can hear it. None of us can hear this song you keep telling us about it. Are you sure you’re not…”

The druid placed a finger over her lips, inciting a confused blink from her. “I’m not,” he said curtly and smiled weakly. “Trust me.”

Tegan didn’t smile back, but pressed her lips together in a somewhat worried frown. “I do.”

“Good,” said the druid. “Franser, could you come here a bit?” Kaer Mirh continued over to a different man whose trade was builder and started discussing acquisition of building materials. Tegan sighed again and caressed her belly moreso to soothe herself than the baby inside. His judgment hadn’t been wrong before, but it was never easy just accepting the existence of this mysterious song, no matter how many times he tried to explain it. She looked over at one of the goats, which looked back with its odd, flat-pupiled eyes. Another one behind it bleated loudly.

No, these creatures definitely couldn’t sing.



A year passed, and the settlement had grown from a population of thirty-three to eighty-one. During the four month, all forty membres of the Circle of the Long Stride had arrived to behold the Dûna, the moot stone, guided to it by a blinking star that had shone brighter than all for the duration of a moon cycle. All the druids who had arrived agreed: The Dûna was a holy place, and it would serve as their meeting stone for all eternity. The growing settlement created work for those of neighbouring villages who had nothing to inherit, and bonds of allegiance formed between Ha-Dûna and its neighbours, as well as sparks of rivalry. Language barriers were hard to breach, but trade and favours spoke a thousand words. The druids of the Circle of the Long Stride decided the first year that the Dûna and Ha-Dûna by extension should serve as the centre of their circle, and should strive to be a core hub of druidism in the highlands. Whenever they would go out to other villages to spread the word of the gods and tend to the inhabitants’ qualms, they would also make sure to spread the message that Ha-Dûna was a haven for druids and those devoted to the gods, and would accept all who would be willing to work in the name of divinity. After that, the meeting adjourned, and the druids once more travelled out into the highlands to perform their tasks, eager to see their capital grow into a jewel the gods could be proud of.

A bastion to the glory of Fìrinn, Claroon, Gibbou, Reyia, Macsal, Seeros, Boris and the World Tree.






In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


Gibbou


Gibbou strolled triumphantly across the surface of her moon, looking giddily down at the planet below. As she had foreseen, the appearance of vampires had immensely reduced the number of people who killed their superiors and family for ambition. Her plan had succeeded. To celebrate, she conjured forth a fancy glass with a blue drink, which immediately froze. With a pout, she thawed it again and drank it as quickly as she could before it froze, gagging at the overwhelming presence of blue curaçao. A short moment passed, and then she made herself another.

Before long, the goddess was skipping across the moon, giggly, giddy and about as wasted as the satellite's surface. Maybe she finally had done it? The Circles, the vampires… Maybe the tides were turning for little Gibbou? Maybe Neiya’s poisonous words could finally leave her - Cadien’s statue, finally disappear? Maybe… Maybe she could finally be as good and amazing as her beloved sister?

A distant whisper made her lose her balance and faceplant into the rocky soil. She groggily forced herself back up, her sloppy hands somehow not managing to grab the ground properly. With a push that sent her five metres into the not-air, she managed to coerce her clumsy legs into a sitting stance and her eyes into a resemblance of a focused stare. She dove deep, deep inside her rum-sozzled brain, pulling forth the faint flicker of a voice that had tried to contact her. It was a prayer - a small child whose language sounded Lapite. Gibbou pulled at her nose and tried to make herself somewhat presentable before listening in once again. With messy hair, restless feet and a head that just couldn’t seem to stay still, she focused.

“Dear Yuemu...” The voice was crying, and Gibbou’s emotional centre and attention span were battling gruesome battle in the deep, unforgiving swamp that was her inebriated mind. “... A… A monster has been attacking us in the night. More and more people are disappearing, and, and, and… I’m so scared. I can’t sleep even if I want to. What if it gets us like the others? What, what if I’m next?”

This puzzled Gibbou, or at least she looked puzzled. Squinting eyes and pursed lips overtook her expression, and the goddess ran a hand over her chin. ”Mhm, mhm… I, uh-duh… I, I shee,” she mumbled to none in particular, and hopefully not to the frightened little girl back on Galbar. After what felt like an eternity, her senses conjured forth a proper response. ”Yuh-your mind ish unwell, my ssshild. Here, lemme help you.”

With a clumsy wave of her hand, she cast something (she wasn’t quite sure herself, even), and the sound of a slow sigh came from the other end. She summoned forth a moon dust mirage of the other side and saw the child soundly asleep next to her parents, who also appeared to be resting peacefully. When she expanded the mirage, she saw that that whole part of the warren that the child lived in had suddenly fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep - even the guards. Satisfied, she made herself another drink and blew the image away, just as a shadowed figured entered the view from a corner. After downing her drink, her eyes suddenly picked up a very peculiar fish east of Toraan. She focused her hazy eyes, and her heart skipping four beats. Immediately, she poured all her might into establishing a mental link with this individual, just as it was washing ashore on the Kylsar Isles.

”Hic! … Hey...”

”No,” answered Twilight on the other side, busily pulling seaweed out of his sandals.

”Boo, you suck,” moaned Gibbou disapprovingly. ”Enter--... Urrp… Entertain me.”

Twilight sighed. ”Isn’t part of being a goddess that you can do anything? Gibbou shrunk. ”Including making a playmate?”

”Nnnnnnno!” exclaimed Gibbou and nearly rolled backwards onto her back. Twilight winced at the background noise as the moon goddess got back up. ”I wan’ ssshat wishoo.”

Twilight placed a seawater-smelling palm in his face. ”Look, Gibs, could you not do this right now? I mean, I just made landfall, I’m tired--

”Ooo! Whashu, urp, doon? Tsell me, cuh-maaawn!” A moment passed. ”C’MAAAAAWN!

Twilight looked up and sighed from the bottom of his lungs. ”Y’know… Being doing stuff?”

”Kinda staff?”

”Stuff! Like, uhm… I met this troll-guy. He was… Really nice, actually. Kinda miss him. Tidemand was his name. Yeah… Him and Oscar sure are some sweet guys.” There was silence, during which Twilight hesitated to test whether the link was still open. Eventually, however, he said, ”Gibbou?”.

”MY TROLLSH AIN’T ALL BAAAAAAAD!” came a long, tearful scream followed by a sulking, guttural ”uuuuuuuuuuu-huuu-huuu!” Twilight felt a compulsive need to pat her politely on the back, but said nothing until the moon goddess eventually continued, ”Oo-hoo… Shanksh, Twi, hic! It helpsh that--... Ugh… That you tsell me theesh shings…”

”You’re-... Ahem, you’re welcome, Gibs. For a while, there was only sobbing and sulking on the other side. However, suddenly, something rustled in the bushes nearby. Twilight’s eyes focused on the spot with lightning quick accuracy, and he knelt down slight. ”Gibbou, listen, I know you’re sad, but--”

”You’re shad!” she accused back.

”Look, I can’t do this right now, Gibs, I can’t hear myself think with all your--” Then, out of the bushes came two cloaked and masked humanoids, each armed with bone spears. Immediately, one of them lunged at Twilight and shouted, “Bad luck, kid! Fork over the belongings and run, or we’ll take ‘em and leave you to rot in the swamp!” The avatar dodged away, only for another spear to appear from behind him and graze his hip as not even his godlike reflexes could properly avoid it. ”Crap, bandits!”

”Whashat?” Gibbou droned.

”Gibs, would, would you just shut up for a-- phew! -- for a moment?!” Twilight cursed back as he narrowly ducked out of the way of another spear attack, barely dancing away from yet another one. The three tried constantly to surround him, and while the avatar made it hard, three deftly stabbing spears was no easy foe to avoid. There came a sniff from the other side.

”You’re alwaysh sho mean to meeee…”

”I swear, if you start crying again-- hup!”

“Who’re you talking to, boy?! We’re the only ones here! Yargh!” One of the bandits jumped forward, adding some extra length to his thrust. The blow grazed Twilight’s arm, ripping through the fabric of his shirt. Twilight grit his teeth.

”Gibbou, are you gonna help, by sunlight?!”

”Oh, I’m sh-shorry! I thought you werr part godz! Can’t you, like, mayke stuff or shomshin’?” The pout on Gibbou’s face was audible.

”I can’t-- ugh! -- focus like this! Help me!”

There came a long sigh. ”Uuuugh! Fiiiiine!” There came a flash in the sky above, breaking through the clouds and crashing into Twilight’s hand like a lightning bolt. The three assailants stopped in awe and confusion as the avatar suddenly held a scabbarded blade, curved ever so slightly backwards to resemble somewhat a softer curve of the moon. Twilight blinked, and then a widening grin formed on his lips. The assailants blinked amongst themselves (not that that was possible to see through their masks) and slowly began to back off. Twilight’s grin turned to a malicious smirk as he unsheathed the sword, its blade a cold, white shade of steel; its edge, an ashen sheen that stood out in the night’s darkness. He weighed the sword in his hand, testing its balance.

”Now… -This- is a weapon. Thanks, Gibbou. At least you can do something right.”

”At leash you can do something right, bleh, bleh, bleh…” The bandits staggered backwards as Twilight approached.

”You thought you could pounce on me so easily? Heh… Well…” The bandits all tripped backwards and huddled together in sheer terror. Twilight snickered. ”You’ll be feeling it now… The wrath of myself, Twilight, and my trusty companion…” He paused to think of a name, looking upwards with a respectful nod. “... Tsukigami-no-Kokoro.”

From the other side of the mind-link, he heard Gibbou burst into laughter, which kind of ruined the moment for him, but at least the bandits couldn’t hear it. He approached the one who had taunted him to earlier and lifted the sword high above his head, the bandit’s companions crying for mercy for their boss. Twilight rolled his eyes. ”Mercy… Like the kind you wanted to show me?” He spat. ”Mercy’s too good for the likes of you.” Locking eyes with the leader, he said, ”... Tell the king of the underworld… Twilight sent ya.” Then he hacked his blade downwards.

DUNK!

“Ow!” shouted the leader and immediately brought his hands to the growing bump on his head. Twilight’s eyes widened in surprise and puzzlement, as did all the others’. Twilight immediately turned around and looked up to the sky. ”GIBBOU!”

”Hm? Wha?”

Twilight shook the sword around. ”What the hell is this?!”

”Why, it’sh the shword that you named Tsookeegahmee no--... Pfffahahahahaha! Ican’believeyounameditthaaat! Hahaha!”

Twilight tossed the sheath into the ground so hard it caused sand to splatter everyone around. Another audible pout. ”Hey, I made dat!”

”What the hell kinda sword -is- it, though?!”

”It can cut through anyshing when the moon shines on it! It’sh super-strong, y’know!”

”When the moon is out?! Gibbou - it’s OVERCAST!”

There was a long pause. Then Gibbou exploded into a snorting laughter once more. The bandits seized the opportunity to run and Twilight sat himself down in the sand with his face in his hands, suffering the taunting guffaw of his superior. ”Hoooo-hooo! Ican’tbreathe! I’mgonnapee!” came a few words wheezingly from the other side.

”Just leave me alone,” Twilight pleaded in embarrassment.

”Hehehehehehe, noway, thish is too good, oh, sister.” There was a long suction of breath, followed by an equally long side. ”Holy sunlight...”

”If my divine powers are good for anything, then please let them help me block you out of my head…”

”Oh, now you’re mean again, boo...” Gibbou moaned. ”Fine, I’m going… But not because you toldz me too! Hmph!” With that, the presence in his mind disappeared. Twilight sat there on the beach in shame, Tsukigami-no-Kokoro sheathed across his lap. He sat there, for a very long time.




In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Letters from the Duke of Zhou 1 - The Tale of Chu and Ba


To the respected duke of the Song warrens,

Allow me first to express my most gracious greeting to a fellow, worthy duke - many difficulties plague our lands and lives, so pleasures such as these are too few and too far in between. It has come to my attention that the lightfurs of the Lower Warrens under Your esteemed leadership have grown rowdy and rebellious of late, yet nothing your peacekeepers do seems to mend the situation. As such, our mutual friend, the venerable duke of Qin, made contact with me on your behalf so I may offer my counsel in this matter.

It is in times like these that I remember what happened in the warrens of Chu and Ba. As I’m certain you know, the warren of Chu once had a wealthy gentleman named Sima Wen, and he was beloved by all of Chu. Likewise, the warren of Ba had a virtuous huntress named Zeng Yun, and she, too, was beloved in all of Ba. The day then came when the warrens of Chu and Ba both fell into unrest, darkfurs and lightfurs, warrens high and low - all in a great rumble. So the lords of Chu sent word to Sima Wen, while the lords of Ba sent word to Zeng Yun. Sima Wen and Zeng Yun were both tasked with bringing peace to the Warrens, for theirs was great love and respect among the people; however, Sima Wen could only convince the high warrens to settle down, while Zeng Yun only calmed the low warrens. Thusly fell the great warrens of Chu and Ba into decline.

For you see, respected duke - the wealthy gentleman Sima Wen, while beloved in all the warrens shafts and tunnels, knew not the squalls and hardships of the lightfurs, and thus could not relate to them; likewise, while the virtuous huntress Zeng Yun was beloved in all the warren’s caves and holes, she knew not the rituals and customs of the darkfurs, and thus could not speak to them. The lesson we as scholar-gentlemen - as proper junzi - must take away from stories such as these, is that we cannot expect those of great fame and renown to simply bypass our societal customs. In order to reach out to our warrenmen - all of them - we cannot rely on status alone; a leader with titles and no charisma cannot even lead the bees to nectar.

My proposal to you, respected duke, is therefore to recall your peacekeepers - funnel instead your resources into understanding and learning from your lightfurs. Gain their trust, their respect, their love, but make certain that you do not lose the support of your darkfurs in the process. Do this, and the warrens of Song will no doubt last longer than any hare can live.

I wish you the best of luck in your endeavours, and may the gods forever grant you fortune.

With great respect,

Duke Kong Rui of Zhou.



In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
“No, no, no - you have to hold it in, my man. Come on.”

Twilight held his breath, the smoke burning like embers in his throat. Eventually, he couldn’t bear it anymore and coughed it back out. Oscar the thumbling laughed so hard he nearly fell off the flycap he sat on. “Oh, you’re such a sissy, Twi!”

”Easy for you to say! Your pipe’s so small!” replied the man coarse as he pounded his chest with his fist. The thumbling eyed its own pipe, fashioned from a tree splinter, then the long, curved, carven masterpiece which Twilight had seemingly conjured out of thin air. He gave a little shrug and repositioned himself on the flycap as he took another drag.

“I’d say they’re about proportional,” he conceded. Twilight smacked his lips to taste the smoke, bobbing his head from side to side to demonstrate his opinion.

”It’s decent, though. Where’d you say this pipeweed came from?” With a divine finger, he poked out a smouldering bit of grass and eyed it carefully. Oscar sucked thoughtfully on a tooth.

“Plucked it over by berry farmer Larson’s stead. He keeps a patch for when the nights get long and the kids get rowdy, y’know.” He gave the pipe a few smacking sucks and unleashed a plume of smoke the size of his head - or roughly the size of Twilight’s pinky nail.

”Y’don’t say… Any idea who made this?” Twilight mumbled and gave it a sniff in search of divine origin. It smelled, unsurprisingly, of smouldering grass. Oscar shrugged.

“Couldn’t say. Always been, from what I’ve heard.”

”That right…” Twilight mused and clapped his teeth passively over the mouthpiece of his long pipe. A snicker suddenly overtook him. ”Hope you didn’t snatch all of farmer Larson’s grass just for me, now.” Oscar waved a dismissive hand.

“I’m sure he’s got enough. Man smokes like a chimney, so he keeps a stash. Besides, I reckon he’d have no issue sharing with a kind-hearted vagabond. It’s not like we get a lot of strangers passing by.” He gave off a light-hearted chuckle. “Ain’t often people see our humble village for more than hollow stumps and mushrooms.”

Twilight sighed softly. ”Life here’s pretty peaceful, huh?” Oscar puffed out a series of tiny smoke rings that could’ve easily been mistaken for snowflakes defying gravity.

“By Saint Adrian, it’s downright idyllic,” he agreed, pulling the rim of his round straw hat down over his eyes to meet the setting sun. He tapped his tree splinter pipe on the cap of the flycap to dump out the ashes before he started squeezing in a new bowlful. Twilight, meanwhile, was getting used to the soft burn in his lungs, and though the effect of the plant was much too weak to affect him considerably, there was something comforting about a hobby like this. Something to share with others. A moment of silence followed, during which the only sounds where inhales, lip smacking and heavy exhales. Eventually, though, Oscar gave the horizon a squint and asked, “So, where you headin’ off to, anyway? Heard you’ve been talking with ol’ Dick about packing up.”

”Oh, y’know…” Twilight clicked his tongue. ”Got places to see, people to meet… World’s a lot bigger than the horizon, after all - and I’m planning on seeing it all.”

“Heh, is that right? You tall folk sure don’t let nothin’ stop ya, that’s for sure.” Oscar offered him a grin with his pipe firmly held between his jaws. Twilight returned the expression.

”I take it your kind’s not the adventuring sort?”

“Oh, now, quite the contrary, mister.” Oscar raised an objecting finger. “Thumblings are pretty well-traveled if I may say so.” Twilight snickered, but Oscar nodded still. “It’s true! Why, my uncle Roger over in Mossheap spent his youth hiking the continent around - in true Adriannic fashion, mind you! He was no quitter - no, siree. Didn’t lose his grip once, he didn’t. Whether it was elk or a pant leg, he held on like it was about life and death.”

”Your kind sure holds this ‘Saint Adrian’ in high regard, huh,” remarked Twilight with another suck of his pipe.

“How could we not? The man’s a legend. Stories say he rode the moon across the seas and all the way into history. Fought a fully grown askeladd with nothin’ but a pine needle, they say. Every Thumbling knows about that crazy sumbitch.” A plume of smoke punctuated his sentence.

Twilight blew his own plume through pursed lips. ”Rode the moon, huh…” He sucked a deep breath through the nose and knocked the ashes out of his pipe bowl into a nearby patch of swampy, moist moss. ”Adventure ain’t nothing for you, though, huh?”

“Nah. My uncle’s the exception in my family, I’ll be honest - sure, we’re mighty proud of him, but… Us Bumbledrums,” he sucked on a tooth, “we ain’t need nothin’ more than a full belly and a warm hut to come home to after a day in the berry bushes.”

”Yeah, I understand.” With that, Twilight deposited his pipe on the inside of his belt, which was a length of rope simply tied about his waist, clapped his hands over his knees and rose up, stretching his hands over his head. ”Well, I think it’s about time I got back on the road.”

Oscar pushed the rim of his hat upwards a little with the mouthpiece of his pipe to eye the horizon. “Y’sure you wanna be travelling at night, friend? It’s not like that spot you’ve been sleeping in’ll disappear any time soon.”

Twilight pressed his palms into his lower back and bent backwards. ”Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I feel more at home in the night than I do in the day, I’ll be honest. But hey, thanks for letting me stay as long as ya did. Hope I didn’t, uh, eat -all- the berries in your stock.” Once more, Oscar waved dismissively.

“Oh, sure, you might eat for ten thumblings, but it ain’t like we’re starving.” He took off his hat and turned to Twilight with a smile. “You’ll have a good one now, Twi. Don’t be a stranger if you pass by lil’ ol’ Marshstead, now. I’ll tell Lotty to make ya a houllin pie when you get back.”

”Heh, that’d be great, Oscar. You stay out of trouble now.”

“Likewise,” replied Oscar with a tip of his hat. Twilight returned the gesture with a nod and moved eastward through the marshes. He moved ceaselessly through the whole night, except to stop and eat some houllin berries he’d brought along with him. He took his time crossing the swamplands, taking in the sights, smells and textures of the bog with gusto. He hadn’t felt anything in his sleep, but the only truth he knew now was how great it felt to be awake. The coolness of the murky water, the harshness of the air’s scent, the heaps and dips of moss and muck - this place was alive. Twilight adopted a little frog one day, keeping it on his shoulder for a good hour before it skipped off and disappeared into a large puddle. The avatar hadn’t even been sad nor angry - life was blossoming here, even in such dull-looking wetlands. The world of the gods sure was magnificent - and now -he- had that same power.

One night, a certain song overruled the squelshes and squashes of his steps in the boggy terrain. Twilight found himself entranced by its tunes, and he had to investigate closer. The voice was deep and baritone, siren-like in its attractiveness. As Twilight drew closer, the melody was complemented by the rhythm of the ocean waves. The sea came into view across the marshland meadow, reflecting as it was in the moons’ light. There, by a small fire, Twilight saw a colossal shadow dancing beside it. Its every step shook the earth, but there was nothing menacing about it - if anything, it was beautiful.


As I went down to the ocean to pray,
Studyin’ about them good, ol’ ways ‘n who shall wear
That moonlit crown.
O love, show me the way.

Oooh, lovelies,
Let’s go down, let’s go down, c’mon down.
Oooh, lovelies,
Let’s go down, down to the ocean to pray.

As I went down to the ocean to pray,
Studyin’ about them good, ol’ ways ‘n who shall wear
That starry crown.
O love, show me the way.

Oooh, my wife,
Let’s go down, let’s go down, c’mon down.
Oooh, wifey,
Let’s go down, down to the ocean to pray.

As I went down to the ocean to pray...


Twilight was smitten. He had never heard such music before - literally. It was as though his every sense focused sucked on the creature’s every note. He couldn’t help but be drawn closer and closer - he had to know what manner of creature was making this music. His feet felt the transition from sticky moss to cool sand, and the creature’s tremors reverberated through his bones. There was a foul smell on the air, souring the experience somewhat - Twilight surmised it had to be the rotting seaweed on the beach. As he reached a distance of merely three metres from him, he let out a sigh and said, ”You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.

The dancing giant stopped and turned, revealing a hollow-eyed, sinister grin as though made by a terrible amalgam of fish and man. Its skin sagged as though it had once been melting off its face and stiffened midway, and its teeth were vile and crooked. With a grateful nod, it spoke, “Why, thanks a bunch, mate. That’s awful kind o’ you.”

Twilight felt his heart nearly stop from the sight and he tossed himself down in the sand, burying his face in between the dunes in an effort to forget what he had just seen. Into the ground he screamed, ”BY THE GODS, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR FACE?!”

The giant blinked and patted its face. “Oh, scentin’ seawaves! ‘Ang on, mate, pardon that.” There came some rustling from behind Twilight and the avatar allowed himself to sneak a peek of what was happening. The giant was facing away, looking to be digging through a large pack until it found a circular, shadowed object, which it put on its face. “A’roight, should be good!” The giant turned back and sat down, its face now covered by a large, white mask with two eye-holes, as well as a smiling mouth drawn on it with charcoal. “Again, sorrey ‘bout that. Wuz singin’ to my wife ‘n, y’know, she likes me better withou’ the mask, if ye catch my drift.”

Twilight gulped and clutched his chest instinctively as he turned back to face the giant head on. The shock within him had yet to subside, but at least it wasn’t reinforced now by a second exposure to that… That face. He was certain it would’ve killed him. The giant looked expectantly at him. “Must say, you’re farin’ much better than other ‘umies I’ve run into wivvout the mask. Most, uhm… Well… Must keel roight on ova’, to be honest. Hurts me to the bone, it does, but gods demanded I look like this, ‘n… Y’know… S’long’s wifey is happy, so am I.”

Twilight conjured forth a lemon and contemplated squeezing it into his eyes. ”Who exactly demanded you look like this?” he replied sourly.

“Why, that’d be Lady Moon, of course,” the giant replied faithfully. “I’m a troll, after all.”

Twilight curled tightly his fists. That useless goddess!

“Not bitter about it, though!” added the troll, as thought it could sense what Twilight was thinking. The avatar blinked curiously at it and the troll nodded. “That’s roight. Oh, sure, every now ‘n then, it really isn’t pleasant to scare people to deaff, but you eventually learn to git aroun’ that, y’know?” He pointed to his mask. “Wearin’ this makes it pretty nice to interact wiff people, actually. Some’re nicer than ovva’s, of course - ‘umies tend to be pretty bitter against my kind. Not wivvout reason, of course - my kinsmen’ve done some mean fhings. Makes me curious, though - why ‘aven’t you run for the hills yet? ‘Umies usually do.”

”That so?” replied Twilight somewhat sarcastically. The troll didn’t react much, though. The man cupped his face in a propped up hand and sighed. ”Well, let’s just say I’m not like most other humans.”

The troll nodded sagely. “Yeah, that’s about roight. Seen many ‘umies fall over like you did, but very few get back up. Whot’s your secret? Might be nice to share with the rest of my kinsmen.”

Twilight frowned as he contemplated his reply. As he did so, he pulled out his pipe and patted some of the pipeweed he brought along for the journey into the bowl. “It’s, uh… It’s -this-!” He held up the pipe. “This, uh, grass keeps me calm and focused.” The troll leaned down and eyed it thoroughly.

“Ain’t that somefhin’... Where’d you get that?”

Twilight thumbed westward. “The grass is from the bog. The pipe, I made myself. I could show you how, if you’d like.”

The troll smiled even behind the mask. “Why, I’d be ‘appy to learn!”

And so, Twilight and the troll sat down together - Twilight with a knife and a small log; the troll with a flat boulder and a tree trunk - and got to whittling. They whittled together for a day or two, moving back and forth between the beach and the troll’s cave in the night and day respectively. They shared stories and jokes, and the troll, who Twilight learned had been honoured with the name Tidemand, explained to Twilight the nature of his kin and why he would spend every night singing for his wife to come back to him.

“See… Draug wives, they like the seas a bit better than us lads. They go swimming for long periods of the years, or they move way, far away down the beach. Only way to guide ‘em home is to sing to ‘em.”

”Has it worked?”

Tidemand’s gaze had lowered somewhat at this. “My wife’s gone for a long swim this year… I pray to the gods every day that all is well wiv’ ‘er.” This left Twilight with a clump in his chest.

After four days, their projects were completed: Twilight had carved himself a wholly new pipe, this time from scratch, and Tidemand had fashioned himself a similar craft, only that it was longer than Twilight was tall. The avatar had conjured forth some pipeweed, pretending he’d harvested it himself, and the two had spent the fifth night admiring the sea to the sound of smouldering grass and exhaled smoke. Tidemand had carved a small hole in his mask for the mouth piece to slip through. After days of conversation and banter, they sat in complete silence, enjoying each other’s company.

”Say, Tidemand?” Twilight suddenly mumbled.

“Hmm?”

”I, uh… I heard you singing to the seagulls earlier. I mean, you know I always love hearing you sing, but… Are you doing alright?”

The troll gave him a curious frown, then burst out into a guffaw. Twilight was a little taken aback. ”Woah, hey, I’m just asking!”

Tidemand sniffed and wiped a tear away from underneath his mask. “Oh, Twilight, forgive my laughin’, but… ‘Aven’t you ever ‘eard of the Worldsong?”

Twilight frowned. “The what-song? Is this a troll thing?”

Tidemand chuckled again. “No, friend, it’s the gift o’ Macsal to the world! I can’t say I’m an expert at it, but, well… It helps with keepin’ the gulls out of my food.” With that, he started rumbling in his baritone voice, a fantastic hum that seemed to calm the oceans and the winds. Twilight watched in awe as seemingly godly feats slowed down the natural forces as though they were sung a lullaby for. Then he heard it, ever so faintly, a million small voices singing back. He looked around searchingly and Tidemand nodded sagely.

“Ah, it’d seem you, too, have the gift of spiritsong.”

”The gift of what?”

“Of spiritsong! Macsal’s gift’a music to all fhings, from rocks te birds. Takes some time t’ learn how te sing back, but… I’ve found that listenin’ in on it really takes the sorrow out of bein’ alone on this beach in the night.”

Twilight eyed the sand ponderously as he took in the words, as well as the seemingly omnidirectional music coming from everything from the ground underneath him to the clouds above. It carried with it the emotions of everything - every part of Galbar, divine and mundane. It truly was a world song.

”Could you… Could you teach it to me, Tidemand?”

The troll sighed. “No, my good friend. That, I can’t.”

”Wait, why?”

He shrugged. “‘Cuz I ‘ave no idea how! It’s a miracle that you can even ‘ear it after such a short exposure! My, you really are an oddball as far as ‘umies go, huh…” When he saw Twilight’s disappointed expression, he tapped the part of his mask that covered his chin. “Well… I might not be able to, but… I know this ovva’ lass ‘cross the pond.”

”Across the pond? Is it your wife?”

“Nah, more like a cousin. She ain’t draug, though - she’s drighina - my kin, but still a bit different. Much closer to Macsal’s Worldsong than me. Veslemoy, is her name.”

Twilight pursed his lips. ”Which pond’re we talking about, by the way?”

Tidemand pointed at the sea before them. Twilight blinked. ”That’s it?” Tidemand nodded. ”I have to swim across the ocean?” Tidemand nodded.

“It ain’t small pond, I’ll admit, but if you want the experts, you’ll find ‘em on distant Kobasar. That’s whot the land’s called.” Tidemand dumped a bucket’s worth of pipeweed ashes out of his pipe and smacked his lips. “Give ‘er my best if you find ‘er, a’roight? Ain’t seen ‘er for a few years, so I hope all’s good wiv’er.”

Twilight emptied out his own pipe and stood up, stretching his back. ”I’ll have to cross that on my own?” Tidemand shrugged.

“Dunno. Are ‘umies good swimmers?”

”I mean… I might be,” Twilight proposed with a shrug of his own. As he waded into the sea, he turned to Tidemand and bowed respectfully. ”Hey, Tidemand. It, it really was a joy to spend time with ya.

“Likewise, Twilight. Make sure you don’t drown now, alright? Oh, and thanks for the pipe. I’ll make sure to teach this craft to everyone I meet.”

Twilight grinned back and then started swimming eastwards to Kubrajzar.




In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
“There! That should do it.”

“Oh, bless you, Kaer Mirh, bless you! Oli, say thank you to the kind druid.”

A boy, barely aged seven by the looks of it, stared down at the leg which, merely minutes ago, had been thoroughly broken under the debris of a collapsed mud hut. Now, it was splinted and healing, thanks to the aid of the white-robed, middle-aged man kneeling beside him and his mother with a warm smile. “Th-thank you, Kaer Mirh,” he repeated after his mother and the druid nodded.

“Oh, it was nothing, my son - just make sure it won’t happen again, alright? Next time, I might not be around anymore,” the druid replied and stood up. The boy’s mother dusted off her son’s tunic and helped him to his feet, the boy wincing as he planted his sore foot on the ground.

“Oh, must you leave, kind druid? You’ve done so much for us here - the fruits have never been plumper; the grains, never been larger. We hardly know what we’ll do without your aid.” The rest of the villagers, who had been eyeing the druid’s craft in a circle around them, all nodded and voiced their agreement.

“Even the wolves don’t come for our goats in the night! How do you do it, kind druid? How?” Kaer Mirh turned to the crowd, brandishing his long branch of a walking stick, upon which crown began to grow small flowers and scented leaves. The crowd gasped in awe at the display and clapped. Kaer Mirh bowed humbly.

“My magic is given by divine mandate, villagers of Lallybroch - it is merely a trade for mortal piety. Remember to be true to the gods and the land - if you treat nature as you would treat your fellow man, the land will reward your compassion with bounties unlike that which you’ve ever seen. After all - that is all I did.” He pointed to a forest border just south of the village. “The wolves attack your sheep for many reasons, friend - primarily, perhaps, because the hunters in your village hunt their ancestral grounds free of game.” He tapped the shell of his ear. “I hear them singing about it in the night - how empty their bellies are; how their teeth miss the taste of deer like that which their parents are.”

“But, but we need the deer to survive!” came another voice. Kaer Mirh nodded slowly.

“Oh yes, oh yes, I can understand why you would think so - when winter comes, you fear your larders will empty, so you stock up as much as you can. But I have kept close watch over your larders this past week - much of what you harvest, goes to waste - and when it comes to waste, much is already too much.” He shrugged. “I have made a deal with the wolves: They will no longer harm your goats if your hunters stay out of their woods for the rest of the year. That will allow the deer to return and rebuild the balance.”

“W-wait, what?” That was a voice Kaer Mirh recognised: There came rumbling a large, perhaps slightly too wide, man with mighty blonde horseshoe mustache complementing an otherwise rather well-shaven face. It was chief Vraendol, and his face had taken on a terribly red colour. Kaer Mirh nodded his greetings.

“Good afternoon, chieftain - what, pray tell, has you--”

“Don’t play coy with me, druid - you mean to say you made a deal with, with animals without consulting us first?” he exclaimed with a fat finger thrusted in the druid’s face. Kaer Mirh nodded.

“Absolutely, chieftain. The -wolves- were quite satisfied with the arrangement, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure they were, I’m sure they were - and what will out hunters do then, hmm? What will become of us when winter comes and our larders are short on meats, huh? What then, druid?”

Kaer Mirh nodded his head from side to side in a lethargic manner. The crowd had slowly begun to move away from the druid and behind their chieftain, who crossed his arms sternly across his chest. Eventually, the druid shrugged. “If you killed a stag tomorrow and brought it to the village, its meat, even when dried, would not last until winter. The plants are still growing and ripening as though it was spring. However, that stag could prove vital for the wolfmothers so they last until this winter’s rut. Kill that stag, and the wolfmothers will take your goats instead, which, in my humble opinion, would bereave you of more than some dry meat shanks.” He turned to the hunters, whose earlier awed expressions had turned to bitter scowls. “Let the hunters work the fields or gather the woods’ bounty instead - the more you harvest, the more goats you can feed through the winter. I, for one, prefer milk over blood.”

“Hah! A milkdrinker, I see!” the chieftain taunted. The hunters snickered. “And what makes you think we’ll keep your little deal after you’ve moved on, hmm?”

“Oh, I’m certain the second I’m past the horizon, your hunters will be out there looking for the largest, fattest stag there ever was - and that’ll be your choice to do. Just keep in mind that the World Song can be heard by many more, and those who break oaths have more to fear than wolves in the night, my friend.”

“The oath isn’t ours to break,” the chieftain hissed back. Kaer Mirh sighed.

“Very well, good chieftain.” With that, the druid knelt down to retrieve his back of herbal remedies and equipment, which he had left on the ground after helping little Oli. He turned back to the villagers and bowed. “I thank you for your hospitality this week. May the Eight forever hold you in their favour.” With that, he turned away once more and set course northwards.

“Thank you so much for your help!” one of the children, little Oli, most likely, burst out. The chieftain could be heard scolding him, but only briefly before another, this one a girl, joined in: “Thanks, kind druid!” Before long, many of the villagers ignored their chieftain’s orders to pipe down, shouting their appreciation for the druid’s help. Kaer Mirh didn’t turn back, but under a long, greying brown beard, a smile shone through despite his neutral appearance.



Gibbou had taken a moment to leave Genesis with Oraelia while she strolled around the Antiquity for a moment. Its facades were cold and a little too bright for her liking, but at least there were plenty of corners and crevices where shade was plentiful. She would occasionally settle down by one of these corners, pondering the state of mortality below. That was when she heard it:

Sweetest Lady on the Moon,
‘Tis I, your admirer -
I for none but you will swoon,
For you, no love is higher

Source of lighting in the night,
I reach with wanting in my heart.
Insolent, my wish be might,
My song, say sorry, will, for start.

Darkness hugs my every turn -
I have no shelter yet.
I rest tonight in moss and ferns -
Can sleep be granted without threat?

Lady Moon, you are perfect,
For you, my song’ll never end.
Please, oh Gibbou, come protect
This humble druid’s life, defend.


There was a pause in the song, through which Gibbou was uncertain of what had happened to the singer. She knew this voice well, for he had sung for her before - she conjured forth an image of the mortal, a white-robed man halfway through life, lying comfortably in the moss in the woods staring at the sky. Her heart jumped a little and she couldn’t help but smile - he looked so happy despite there being no roof above his head. From what she could see, his eyelids quickly grew heavier and heavier as he rolled onto his side.


Wond’rous Gibbou, be with me
As I rest… I’ll...


The rest of the verse seemed to be snoring, but Gibbou had already heard what she needed. The joy of such pious mortals - mortals like this, well… She didn’t know his name, actually, but she knew most things about him regardless! The spitting image of the druid she had imagined all those years ago!

She had to tell someone - anyone! Mortals like him needed to be taken care of by the gods, so that they may spread and multiply! She saw a portal open itself in the distance and walked towards it.

As she stepped through the portal, she immediately found herself standing upon what seemed to be an island made out of clouds, floating in the midst of an endless blue sky. She was standing on a cobblestone path, which led to a rather large and imposing fortress of black stone.

“Gibbou? Is that you?” Cadien’s voice spoke in her head. Just then, the sky suddenly darkened, as if transitioning from day to dusk - although there was no sun to be seen. This was not her doing; it was almost as if Cadien was trying to make his realm more welcoming to her. “Come in, come in! I’m in the keep!”

The moon goddess admired the surroundings as she skipped along the cobblestone path until she reached the fortress gates, taking in the sights in the shadow of the dark sky with glee. “I love what you’ve done with the place!” she praised as she entered. She found herself standing in a grassy courtyard, the path continuing onward past two fountains of pure sparkling water, and leading into the fortress’s main building. She went over to one of the fountains and marveled at the fizziness of its water. “Is this mineral water?”

“Pure water,” Cadien answered in her mind. “The sparkling is purely a visual effect, meant to make it more pleasing to the eye.”

“Oh,” cooed Gibbou in a somewhat let-down manner. “Anyway, Cadien, I’ve caught something and I just -had- to tell somebody. See, there’s this druid…”

“A druid? I think I’ve heard that term before. Remind me, what are they?”

Gibbou stepped inside the palace, a cup of sparkling normal water in her hand. “Well, see, druidism is this type of magic my sister and I thought up to help mortals protect themselves without our help, and-- Oh, sister, what are these?!” She gaped and looked at the statues all around.

Standing in the hallway, on either side of the velvety purple carpet, were anatomically correct statues of every single one of Galbar’s species; one for each gender, and in its idealized form. All of them were anatomically correct, and none of them were clothed. The statue of the Female Night Elf in particular happened to look very similar to Gibbou. “Oh, those? I sculpted them over the years. What do you think?”

Gibbou approached the Night Elves and looked them up and down through her fingers, plum-like cheeks flushing in hiding. She cleared her through unnecessarily thoroughly and swallowed before answering. “Uh-uhm… They’re, uh… Wow.” She sniffed once and pinched the bridge of her nose. “They’re nice - really nice, ahem.”

“I’m glad you think so! Anyhow, I’m in the next room. Sorry for not coming out to meet you; I wanted to get an honest reaction to what I’ve done with the place.”

“It’s fine!” she replied with a cracking voice. She corrected herself: “It’s fine. I’ll be right there.” She moved into the other room while burbling bubbles into her cup timidly. The doors to the next room opened on their own accord, and led into a vast open chamber that was unfurnished saved for a marble throne at the very end, a golden chandelier on the ceiling, and several side doors leading off to different rooms.

Cadien was seated on the throne, though unlike any other time she saw him, this time he was actually clothed. He was a clad in a set of shining golden armour, with muscles engraved on the chestplate. Upon his brow sat a golden circlet studded with amethysts, and on his back was a vibrant violet cape, which matched the colour of eyes.

Cadien rose to his feet and clapped his gauntleted hands together. “So!” he said, as she stepped into the room. “What do you think of my new look?”

Gibbou squinted somewhat. “It’s bright. A, a nice shade of it, though - since, y’know, it’s shady out.” She prodded her fingers together. “It suits you.”

“Oh, I see,” Cadien said, as realization dawned. He snapped his fingers, and the gold turned to black. “Is that better?” Without awaiting a response, he stepped forward and waved his hand. Two comfortable-looking armchairs materialized in the center of the room. Cadien sat down on one, and waited for Gibbou to take her seat on the other, which she did.

Gibbou’s squint turned to a frown. “Don’t get me wrong, but black isn’t, isn’t really your colour. You’re so bright and, and, and awesome - gold’s more your thing, y’know.” She punctuated the sentence with the sheepish suck of a tooth. “Sssssooo… Right, druidism! You wanted a reminder?”

Cadien nodded, as his armour once more morphed back into its familiar gold. “Yes. I’ve heard about this form of magic before, but I don’t know the specifics. Could you tell me more?”

“Right, so - like I was saying before - it’s a form of magic that allows mortals to perform miracles in our names in return for their pious behaviour and the spreading of such behaviour to the masses. It’s unlocked using this horn that me and a bunch’a others made, called Hir, which, uh, must’a been circulating a lot around the world, for the druids are praying away like they’ve realised the gods are coming back.” She tapped her chin. “Actually, that’s exactly what I came to talk to you about - the most pious of the druids!”

“And who would that be?” Cadien raised an eyebrow.

“... Okay, so I might not know him by name, buuut he’s a great guy - just making life for mortalkind around Toraan so, so swell! That’s why - hear me out - that’s why I think we should give him our blessing; y’know, so he can gather like-minded druids and form some kind of organisation and spread that wonderous piety all throughout the land!”

“Really? What sort of blessing did you have in mind, then?”

“Something… Something that’ll help them stay on the road in peace. People often depend on these druids to come heal their wounded, treat their sick, help the crops. I feel like we ought to help them do that job to the best of their abilities. Let them sleep in peace at night so they can move further on the road the next day; give them perhaps an aura to ward off brigands and beasts seeking an easy meal? Hmm?” She winked at Cadien. “Something like a perfect smile?”

Cadien replied with just such a smile. “Mmm yes, I see. I’m not sure what a smile will do to deter cannibalistic brigands, but I suppose it won’t hurt. Mayhaps I could also increase their strength, or their stamina. There’s an idea.”

“Stamina, perhaps, so they at least can outrun threats. I’d rather not turn my precious druids into fighters, Cadien,” mumbled the moon goddess. “But, uh, yeah, sounds good?”

“Sure! You did tell me how to create that moon, so I suppose I do owe you something. Hmm… I never did get to ask your opinion on that purple moon, actually. Did you like it?”

“It’s, uh…” She hummed. “It reminds me of you. Really, uh, stands out in the night sky. Anyway,” she cleared her throat and brought up an image of the druid in question, who seemed to currently be journeying over a hill along with a colleague, a human woman dressed in the same white robes. “Shall we get to it?”

“Very well,” Cadien nodded. “You start, and I shall follow your example.”

Gibbou nodded and drew some bright circles in the air with moonlight, filling in the spaces between the circles with runes. “All druids who follow this man, wherever you may be on the world below…” In the image, the cloud cover seemed to darken over the pair, and the mortals looked around with puzzled expressions. “... I hereby name you the Circle of the Long Stride, and yours shall be a unit devoted to helping villages all throughout the land.” In the image, flashes indicated the presence of thunder. “You will found a moot to meet once every year - there, you will lay your routes for which villages you are to aid every season. Go out - spread the good words of druidism to every corner of Galbar. For this, no beast, brigand nor bereavement shall befall you after nightfall - your every evening shall pass without issue. This is my blessing to you, Circle of the Long Stride…” With that, Gibbou passed the circle on to Cadien.

Cadien accepted the circle with a nod. “To the Circle of the Long Stride,” he said, in a serious tone. “To help you carry out these duties, I, Cadien, give you a blessing. I give you the gift of endurance. You will tire less quickly whilst walking or running, and you will be more resistant to any sicknesses you encounter in your travels.” Then, Cadien’s lips curled into a grin. “I also bless you with perfect smiles. Never again shall your teeth rot or decay.”

“Oh, that’ll in handy!” Gibbou remarked and looked into the image. The mortals seemed to already be noticing the visible parts of their blessing, pointing at each other faces. Before long, they were both laying themselves down in the grass to praise the gods. Gibbou clapped her hands excitedly as the image disappeared. “Oh, they look so happy! Thank you so much, Cadien!”

“You’re quite welcome,” Cadien said with a nod. “Was there anything else you needed assistance with?”

“Oh, uh…” she drummed her chin thoughtfully. “Can’t, uh… Can’t think of anything at the moment. Oh! Did you manage to replicate my, uh, my soul thing?”

“I did,” Cadien nodded, as his smile widened. “My new… avatar, I decided to call it, is wandering Galbar as we speak. As is Qael’s, and Illyd’s. Iternis should be making one soon as well. In fact, as we speak they should already be in the process of informing everyone. You’ve done a great favour for us, Gibbou.”

“Oh, pssshhh. It was nothing! Just gotta ask - are yours, uh… They aren’t, y’know…” She paused. “They’re loyal, right?”

“Mine should be,” Cadien said. “Instead of binding the fragment of my soul to one mortal, I’ve decided to have it move. It changes hosts every few years. If one of these hosts turns against my purpose, it will eventually move on to someone else. Then there’s Illyd’s… he basically just made himself, so I doubt he’ll have too many troubles. I’m not sure about Qael’naath’s - I didn’t ask him for specific details. Anyhow, I have high hopes.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Better to try a lot of solutions! After all, mine, uh… Mine didn’t work so well--Anyway! It was really nice of you to help out, Cadien. Will I be seeing you around?” She started moving towards the doorway.

“You will,” Cadien confirmed, as he rose to his feet, walked past her, and held the door open for her. “As for your own avatar, Gibbou… I wouldn’t worry too much, if I was you. I think that, eventually, he’ll come to realize that your gift to him far outweighs whatever you took away. Maybe one day he’ll forgive you, or perhaps even be grateful.”

Gibbou stood in the doorway, back facing Cadien. She snickered quietly, but it had a cold politeness to it. “Heh, yeah… Doubt it. See ya around, though, Cades. Was nice hanging out.” With that, she made her way towards the realm’s exit portal.




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