Cyclone — Roleplayer Guild

Storm's King; The First Gale; The Embodiment of Change
Level 3 God of Change (Air)
34.5 Might 3 Free Points

Carried away by the gentle and crisp breeze, a dried and golden leaf at last fell from an aged tree. Its wild tumble at last brought it to the ground, where its journey ended with the crunch that came when it was crushed beneath a sandal. Gleefully a girl skipped on with basket in hand, humming to herself as she took in the sweet air and enjoyed the sound of leaves crackling underfoot. Erelong she had made her way to carefully cultivated vineyard, and so she set about plucking the plumpest of grapes off their vines and dropping them into her basket with a smile.

Meandering without a care in the world, she took her time. The morn's cool gave way to the noon's warmth, though the playful eddies of wind tossed her long hair to and fro, cooling her in the sun. The basket steadily grew heavier and heavier, until at last she turned and made her way back. The wind was now billowing more frantically; one sudden and violent gust tore the basket from her hands and scattered the grapes across the ground. She turned to the horizon and saw a great storm crawling over the distant hills. The wrathful clouds were dark as the mystic stone that burned, and soon the faroff rumble of thunder rang in her ears.

The storm was faroff still, so she was upon her knees scrambling to gather them back up before the crazed wind scattered them away; she spent what felt like a short time collecting what she could and then staggered on back towards the village. Now flashes of lightning illuminated the dull, overcast land in brilliant white, while thunder cracked loud. She turned with alarm to see that the black clouds had already swept across the plains and were nearly upon her; that storm had traveled with an unnatural speed that no other ever had. Had she really been so preoccupied as to not notice how fast it had advanced upon her?

Now she ran, fighting the wind with each and every step. She did not so much as pause for a second thought when a gust blew some of the contents of her basket onto the ground; soon she felt the basket torn from hers grasp once more, though this time she did not seek to reclaim it. In a mere moment it had been swept up into the sky. Now rain and hail pelted the ground with the fury of a mob stoning a vagabond. She heard a sound like the roar of a hundred great beasts, and turned to see a massive tornado in the near distance. Bloodied and beaten by rain and hail, she barely made it back to her home. 

The sky outside only darkened.

At last the clouds reached the black of tar pits or that void between the stars in the night sky, and then they seemed to grow darker still. Vengeful spears of lightning impaled the ground. Within each and every house there came hushed prayers to Mother Elysium, for though these people did not remember much of Arcon, the goddess Elysium lived on through fable and legend. For all their pleading to their Mother, the sound of the storm's ire drowned out the whispers of their voice and they went forsaken and unheard. The Temple to Elysium, a small hut atop a hilltop, was mercilessly struck by bolt after bolt of lightning with such force that it was blown apart, incinerated, and scattered upon the wind.

Torrential rains drowned the earth itself and water flowed down the hillsides in rivers; it was good that the village was built upon high ground. For days the storm raged unabated, with never a hint of sunlight piercing the black clouds. Food and gifts were thrown out windows in offering to whatever horrible spiryts might be wielding such malevolent power and ill will, yet in their hearts the elders knew that there was no Djinn powerful enough to conjure such a storm.

The storm checked the people's resolve and tested the strength of their homes. It was a trying crucible; many homes were carried away by the wind or swept away by floods, and many people were cast away broken by the horrible force of the wind or else drowned in the mighty rapids. As days went on, the thunder's roar grew only louder and the rain's downpour only heavier. So perilous and terrible did the storm become that men could not so much as venture to their neighbors' houses. Some declared that the end of times had come, and they leaped out their windows to surrender to the inevitability of oblivion. The others cowered inside their homes and cherished what they thought would be their last moments, waiting for their shelters to at last buckle and be torn asunder by the storm.

There was one man who dared venture out of his hovel without harboring the intent of death. He gripped a walking stick with all his strength and used it to steady his gait in the face of wind and water, and kept a thick cloak wrapped around himself to spare his back the worst of the rain and hail. Then, he strode outwards in search of answers.

Rainwater instantly seeped through his cloak to leave a cold kiss upon his flesh; soon his dampened garments became utterly drenched and heavy upon his shoulders. He trudged through flooded pathways with water up to his knees, the debris of houses and the waterlogged dead swept along by the murky waters, though the darkness spared him the horror of sighting many such things.

On and on he trudged, waded, and swam as the depth of the floodwater dictated, made weaker by each passing moment. Terrible winds assailed him, but each time they hurled him backwards he only rose once more and pressed on. The brilliant light of the lightning was his only anchor to reality, and so he followed those guiding arrows to high ground. He found himself at the foot of a small, craggy mountain that he knew to be the highest peak in leagues. Here the lightning struck furiously and with a greater frequency than anywhere else, and though the wind's howl was now utterly deafening it did not seem so intent upon impeding his journey. It was as if some force had sensed him, and now it willed him on. Where he might have finally collapsed a broken man and consigned himself to death as so many others had, the call of this voice gave him newfound resolve. He pressed on, up the muddy and treacherous slopes of the mountain.

What felt like an eternity of arduous travel had truly been less than a day, and here it had led him to seemingly nothing. Strangely the storm was calmer here, and so he sat down and prepared to make his peace. Whatever force he had felt was nowhere to be seen and now he had only more questions and despair than he had set out with. Hope seeped out from his body and left him, much like blood left his body through the countless cuts and injuries he had sustained during the trek.

In an instant, there was a terrifying boom of thunder that expunged his mind of all such notions and willed him to his feet. The strange force returned stronger tenfold than it had been before, and it willed him towards the edge of the summit. He advanced forward, helplessly enthralled by its splendor. He stepped to the very edge of a great cliff, and with widened eyes stared out into the gap beyond and beheld the face of the storm.

Lightning bolts streaked through the sky to strike alarmingly close and the rain poured down ever still, yet the man heard nothing. He drowned in the emptiness of the void before him and in the silence, choking as he looked at the storm's visage. It took the likeness of a man's, though its flesh was wrought from writhing black clouds and its eyes were orbs of light with the glow of lightning. The Storm spoke to him, and he heard its words when all else was silent.

"You alone face the wind."

The Storm compelled him to jump, and so without a moment's trepidation he cast himself from the top of that precipice and into its mercy. He was left soaring through the air, lightning's flashes illuminating the jagged rocks below that would break his mortal frame...

Then there was stillness and he was suspended in the air, closer still to the Storm's face. His awe was such that he could barely think.

Its call rang out once again with a voice that shook his every fiber of being, "I ask for thy name, bravest of mortal men!"

The man tried as he might cry out his name, though the meek voice of a man seemed insignificant and small in the silent storm. Still, he was heard by another even if not by himself.

"Caesus," the Storm repeated. "Know me as the God of Wind and Rain and Storm, Master and Source of all Change, the First Gale to have ever blown and that blew in the Dawn of time, and perhaps the last gale that ever shall blow. I am called Zephyrion.

My presence perturbs thine senses perhaps, so I offer thee time to gather thy bearings. Ah, but I sense thine inquisitive mind! Offer to me Question, and I might grace you with Answer."

The air itself had an electric thrum of magic and energy that surged through him, and that disconcerting pulse made him struggle to even grasp the meaning of each and every word that this God said. Or perhaps it was simply the shock at being in the presence of such a being and withering before its sight? Bewildered was Caesus; here he had come for answers, and yet now that he could have them he knew not what to ask. Finally, he managed weakly, "What must happen for the Storm to leave our lands?"

"A mere thought; that minuscule effort was all that I needed to take on the form of this great tempest, and with so much ease I could become naught more than a light breeze."

The implication that the bringing of this storm was an intentional curse shook Caesus. "For what great crime do you punish us so?"

"I have come to demonstrate my power. Offerings are left for the Djinn of my making and a temple is built in the honor of some lesser being that is no god (if she even exists!), and yet nary a whisper is said of my splendor. I will not suffer insult with such impunity and placidity as the Others!"

Anger and defiance welled up from somewhere deep within Caesus and spilled out, breaking him free from the numbness that dulled his mind. He knew now that he looked upon an evil spirit, a demon, an enemy...and perhaps his death. But fear he bid begone; he had accepted the inevitability of death long ago, so now he might stand tall be shattered rather than crumble of his own accord. "What splendor is there to behold in a vengeful being that has only the power to bring ruin? Why should we submit to brutality?"

"Brutality? The word's very meaning evades thy comprehension!"

A updraft of unstoppable force snatched at helpless Caesus and hurled him to the heights above. There the sky itself was thin and he choked as his lungs grasped for air that was not to be found, the frigid heights also afflicting his extremities with frostbite. Still, no matter how high he was swept that massive face of the Storm always loomed over him. Bolas and lashes of lightning encompassed and struck him, singing and melting flesh. He looked upon himself as he was bisected by one quick slash of wind, and then pondered the world far below as he was left tumbling from the sky's height all the way to the ground. He did not land anywhere near where his home had been before or that mount where his journey had taken him. He didn't land at all.

He found himself amidst a great vortex, suspended high in the air above a gleaming sea with a few serene atolls scattered about. There was nothing of that terrifying and all encompassing black storm to be seen in the nearby sky, and when he looked upon himself he neither saw nor felt any of the horrific injuries that had only just been afflicted. Perhaps they had all been illusionary, or perhaps this god had healed them as effortlessly as he had inflicted them.

"Behold my terrible power!" the raging cyclone roared as the vortex around him billowed toward on one of those peaceful islands. Dark clouds loomed overhead where mere moments before there had been sun and clear skies, and a thousand furious bolts of lightning turned that green isle into a blazing torch to light the sea. In another instant a mighty zephyr was summoned and it tore the flaming palms from their loose purchase upon the ground and strewn across the island. Caesus watched in utter terror as the greatest of the trees were uprooted and flung into the air, where the vicious cycling winds clutched the things and spun them in circles around Caesus. From the peaceful calm inside the tornado he watched the flying palms soar through the air as they were scattered through the sea. Far below, a tidal wave of monstrous size appeared and it swept across the ruined atoll to carry away all that had once been there, and then the entire foundation of the island was swallowed by the sea. The storm faded away, and there was nothing left but the beautiful blue waves.

"Now witness the power of my blessing," Zephyrion spoke, and Caesus gazed yonder with as much obedience as a dog. A golden cloud loomed over an empty stretch of sea and a golden mist swirled about it. Squinting his eyes, he finally realized that it was a great cloud of sand swept from somewhere far away. The clouds of sand gleamed golden in the sun before being abandoned by the gales that carried them and left to cascade into the water below. The sand fell from the sky relentlessly, more brought forth by tireless winds, until there was finally a sandy islet rising above the waves. A mystical and rejuvenating rain poured down upon lifeless and dry sand, and in moments shrubbery and trees bloomed from that bleak patch of sand and with a start Caesus saw that it was in the exact likeness of that first island that he saw torn asunder.

"Change comes, be it good or bad, spurned or no. Thou art better served in welcoming the Force of Change and through that coming to revere the wind and I. What is broken can be reforged; just so, what imperfections rest in your hearts can be eradicated and your people made sublime. The time has come that I no longer rest content with being unknown to the world below. Henceforth I shall take my role as the guiding wind and dabble in mortal affairs much as my Brethren do, but I will be sure that my Grand Ideals of the future are brought into fruition and not their flawed ones.

The first step of this great journey is Thee. Thou shall be my conduit."

With no warning, the Storm God summoned a spear of divine lightning and plunged it through the heart of the hapless mortal before him. Caesus was incinerated in a blink of an eye, but from his ashen remains drifted up a golden plume of smoke. That vapor dragged the man's spirit along with it, and swirled through the air a few times before returning to the man's remnants. Zephyrion stirred his ashes with the same bolt of lightning that he had impaled him with, and from nothing came back life. Caesus was not simply restored so much as remade. His every facet had been improved upon and now he was a worthy vessel of Zephyrion's power and a prophet of a god, where before he had only been a flea whose purpose was to gorge upon Slough's bounty and reproduce without meaning.

"Primus," the terrifying deity spoke, "...shall be what I call thee henceforth. This new name is thine and so too is a great deal of my power, for blessed now is your body but also your blood. So harken now as my prophet and hear my will: thou shalt return to the land of your birth and spread tale of my name and power. Denounce all other divinities as inferior, as is only truth, and proclaim me the truest and greatest. Then with what faithful you can amass, embark upon a great journey. It is my promise that the wind will guide you to a better and more bountiful land than any you can imagine, and one where you will find refuge and sancity. There, you will have a great kingdom to stand as a monument to me. This is my will and decree, and so it is your command and duty. Go now."

Primus had not realized it, yet throughout the entire span that he was within the Storm's grasp, it had gripped him tighty. A great burden was lifted from him as the air itself let him loose and the stormclouds that were Zephyrion's body began to retreat into nothingness. The Prophet closed his eyes and breathed deeply; never before had he been able to discern each and every one of the thousands of faint scents upon the wind. The air had that fresh, earthy taste to it that always followed a rainstorm. Never before had life felt so wonderful, nor had he ever smelled anything so sweet!

As in for Zephyrion, the god's presence no longer was a smothering, all-encompassing reality that wrapped itself around him. Now Zephyrion's touch came from within the deepest depths of Primus' heart, surged through his blood, and spilled out through the every fiber of his being. Such power brought physical strength as well! When Primus at last opened his eyes, he found himself beneath a clear sky and atop that peak where he had first met with his god. With one great leap, he soared over the precipice of the peak and landed softly at the mount's foot. Helped along by the wind, he ran with great swiftness back for his village. As he traveled, he passed the ravaged farmlands and ruined homes that reminded him all too well of the horrific storm; it would seem that had been no dream, and yet from the creeks and ponds he saw people emerging. By Zephyrion's blessing, those that had been claimed by his storm had their waterlogged remains find their way into the healing waters that their lives could be restored.

Over the next months Primus traveled the lands that he had once called home (though now his restless legs yearned for a great journey, and he knew that this was no longer his homeland) and did as Zephyrion had decreed. There were a great many that listened closely and followed him, and with each new faithful by his side Primus rejoiced. Others instead sought to rebuild their homes and restore what they had possessed before; the Prophet now saw their foolishness. In denying Change, they denied their own potential. They turned their sights down to the muddied ground beneath them when they could have instead looked forward to golden dreams of the future. So they were unworthy of Zephyrion's blessing; his chosen people were those that had come forth!

A day finally came when Primus and all those those that stood by his side set out on their great journey. For decades they wandered across Galbar, though the wind was always at their back and never did they falter. After countless years of their great migration, they finally arrived at what Primus knew to be that land Zephyrion had promised. They were within the Mahd River Valley, and all was green and fertile in that lush paradise. All around there was a vast expanse of desert that would shroud their homeland from outsiders and shield them from their enemies, while within their was of course the Mahd, the grandest and most beautiful of all rivers in Galbar.

It was upon that river's banks that the wanderers settled and built their grand city of Vetros, and it was from Vetros that a sprawling kingdom was formed.

To garner the attention of mortal men, Zephyrion takes on the form of a tempest and brings down a Storm of cataclysmic proportions. The rain and hail falls tirelessly for days on end, and the clouds above are so black and omnipresent that were it not for lightning, the land would be darker than on the blackest of nights. Entire human settlements are swept away in floodwaters and countless die.

Prayers to Elysium and to the local Djinni Lords go unanswered.

Where others cower or throw themselves outside to die, one man named Caesus desperately travels outside in search of a way to stop this storm and find out what has brought it upon his people. He is unknowingly imbued with superhuman endurance and resolve, and through Zephyrion's subtle will finds himself brought to the peak of the highest mountain nearby. There, Zephyrion reveals himself.

They speak to one another, and Zephyrion demonstrates both his power for horrific destruction and for growth. Caesus sees two sides of Change.

Caesus is struck down by holy lightning, killed and then reborn as a blessed Hero of Zephyrion. His bloodline is blessed so his descendants will similarly be heroes in a similar sort of way to how Gerrik's heroship will be eventually transferred to an apprentice. Caesus' new name is Primus.

Healing waters bring back those that had perished to the Storm and they invariably find their way to Primus or are found by him. Their settlements are gone and their lands ravaged, but Zephyrion has promised them a better home elsewhere, in the faroff Firewind Desert that he has set aside for the mortals that gather his favor. Primus leads the mass migration to the Mahd River Valley within the Firewind, and after decades of travel, they arrive and begin to build a mighty kingdom.

Domain/Portfolio action to descend upon Galbar in the form of a cataclysmic storm and wreak havoc.
-3 Might to reforge the human Caesus into a Hero and bless his entire bloodline.
-1 Might to use his power of Change to revert the worst of his prior destruction and bring back those that he killed.

Emissary of the Khargat Khanate

Word flew like arrows and Chugo found himself somewhat overwhelmed as he was surrounded by a dozen different voices. He struggled to take in what they all said; many people in quick succession spoke of him, yet a few others were engaged in completely different conversations. A less patient man would have drawn his blade by now and cut out their tongues!

Chugo, however, had that patience and concentration that was so rarely found amongst his people. Ever cool tempered and of a controlled and placid mannerism, he listened as Laxion fumbled to control the speech of the boy that he had inexplicably brought into this hall. It would seem that children run amok and their elders grow inept, in this wretched day and age. All of this will be made right again when the Khanate has its day!

Regardless, Torinus had proven his bravery and sharpness of mind. Chugo might have been impressed were it not for the boy's utter lack of restraint; in temperament he was more alike the average Khargat than anybody else in the court might have realized. Chugo did not appreciate being dismissed as a childish; it had not been his intent to bring about the petty quarrel, and Bastien had of course left him no choice. The Bey could not help but suspect that were he of any of the other provinces, his arguments would have resonated well and the damned Dieuporteillan would have found the entire court turned solely against him.

As it were, the king had other ideas. He did not blink Elendin's words about the supposed worth of the other provinces, but rather suppressed the urge to speak. It was not an emissary's place to explain to a young emperor why his most loyal knights were incapable swine that could only win a war through overwhelming numbers and cowardly ambushes in the swampland. when the king finally finished, Chugo found himself surprisingly gladdened by the prospect of leaving the room.

His words still measured, he answered back, "So Your Majesty wishes, so it shall be done."

A sharp motion of his hand had the servant that had remained by his side quickly move to reclaim the boxed warbow that had been laid before the king, and with that in hand the two gave short bows before turning to take their leave. In their native tongue, Chugo quickly ordered that servant to procure for him parchment, ink, and a quill. The Khan would be informed of these happenings!

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