Legion02

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

The Servants

The village of chief Vraendol was happy. The harvest was rich and wolves ceased to attack their livestock. Rather begrudgingly the chief and his hunters refrained from killing any more deer. None of them wanted to risk the wrath an Oathbreaker brought. Yet despite the good times, chief Vraendol sat hunched over his table. Deeply sunken in his own thoughts. He couldn’t let things turn out the same way next year. Deer would be hunted, as many as he deemed necessary. Wolves would come to kill his livestock again. Then that bloody druid or another would come and undermine his authority. Vraendol wouldn’t care so much if the druid did, if only he stayed the winter. Too much food gave people safety and certainty. A rare thing amid a snow storm. Meat gave one the strength to push on. Instead now he had to survive on bloody berries and bread. The gal that druid had, to tell his hunters to pick up a plow or basket instead of a spear or a bow.

“You asked for me?” Someone said as they entered the great hall.

Chief Vraendol looked up. The first thing he noticed were the eyes. “Yes, rainbow-eyes. I need some of your…insight. Sit down.” He said. The chief had never been particularly fond of magic. Druids or these Servants alike. But the Servants that passed through his village generally did not make oaths in his name. As the newly entered man sat down near the fire, Vraendol handed him a cup with a crude version of mead and sat down next to him before the fire. “You know what happened here? With the druid?”

The man nodded. “He made a pact with the wolves. I’ve heard druids do it before.” The man named Fallenor said. There were rumors amongst the siblings down south from here that druids were becoming an ever growing group of meddlers in villages. For a long time sorcerers held a monopoly on magic. Yet these days the druids rose to ever greater prominence amongst the normal people. While leaders and warriors began to value their sorcerers much more. That alone wouldn’t bother Fallenor. It was only that every time he had talked to a druid, he couldn’t help but smell an ugly stench on him. Every time they talked, the words rang like lies. Even if they were the basest truths. His brothers and sisters stretched across the human world seemingly agreed. None who met a druid liked them.

“That he did, and now I’m here telling you that that is a problem.” Vraendol said. “I’ve got scores of trained hunters, killers really, sitting at home seething over the act. Next year will be no different, and then that bloody druid will come back and undermine me some more.” Vraendol’s voice was that of a man slighted. Double-crossed. Fallenor wanted to ask if he had send for the druid. Perhaps to help make the wolves stay away. “Do you know the fishers village to the east of here?”

“I do.” Fallenor said, as he took a sip of the mead. “It’s small, but cozy. Unlike here they’ve got a steady supply of fish and don’t fear the wolves as much.”

“Yeah, and they utterly despise us. That is perhaps my fault for raiding them a few summers passed. Now tell me, I know your people talk to each other with your minds.” He said as he pointed at Fallenor’s forehead. “Is there one of yours in that village?”

“No.” Fallenor could answer that question with full certainty. Amongst the humans, Servants had been talking for millennia now. It was a vast spanning web that few humans, even if their tribe were rivals, rejected these days. If he never heard a Servant from that village speak, there was most certainly not one there.

“Good!” Vraendol exclaimed. “Excellent! You’ve been a great service to me Fallenor. You may go.” The chief said as he rose up and walked towards a few of his own warriors standing guard.

But Fallenor did not leave. Instead he turned to the chief: “Why do you need to know?”

It took Vraendol by surprise. “Its none of your business.” He said curtly. “Get out of my hall.”

“You’re going to attack the neighboring tribe again, aren’t you?” Fallenor said as he walked closer to the chief.

Vraendol dashed towards the Servant with a knife in his hand. Before Fallenor knew it, a blade was touching the side of his chest. “Don’t say that out loud!” The chief snarled. “Do you want everyone to know!? Damn you Fallenor. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“I swear I will not tell anyone who isn’t supposed to know.” That also meant his own brothers and sisters. Fallenor was well aware of what such an oath meant. Even though he said it so casually.

So was Vraendol. Who pulled the blade away and turned Fallenor away from the entrance of the hall. “You’re too smart for your own good, Fallenor. Yes, I’m going to attack the village next to us. Damn it I’m going to conquer it. We may not need those fishes this year or next year. But we will in due time and when that time comes I know in my heart we won't see Kaer Mirh then. The druid, curse his gods damned name, did give us more than enough food to last the winter, while my hunters aren’t even occupied with hunting deer or protect the livestock from wolves. The opportunity is now and it may never come again.”

“You wanted to know if they had a trained sorcerer.” Fallenor realized out loud.

Vraendol shot him a nasty look, but eventually nodded. “You bloody sorcerers are a dangerous sort. I’ve seen you flick fire and ice before Fallenor. I wouldn’t want to fight that. But now that I don’t, my troops can prepare.”

“I will join you.” Fallenor said suddenly.

It took Vraendol by surprise. “This isn’t something to joke about, Fallenor. I need more from you than festival tricks.” But then he calmed down. Having a sorcerer, even one, amongst his ranks would give him certain victory. His warriors were almost equal to those of the village to the east. With the help of the hunters, they would have a fair shot to victory. With the help of a sorcerer. Well, victory was all but assured. “Very well then, Fallenor. You’ve already sworn yourself to secrecy. I’ll send for you when you’re supposed to leave the village and meet up within the forest. We don’t want to alert the fish village don’t we.” He summoned a big grin.

One Fallenor returned and then finally left. Gears began to spin within his mind. He would have to remain silent to his brothers and sisters for a year. Then he could tell them that he finally gained a favor from his chief.

---

“And that concludes the harvest, sire.” A robed, elderly man said as he handed the slate with the harvest count upon it to a slave. The king sat uneasy on his throne. His eyes were hollow and sunken back into his skull. He hadn’t slept well all summer. Now his worst fears were proven true. The harvest was not enough to feed all his people in winter. Children would die. Even a druid couldn’t revitalize the lands for long.

“Leave me.” He said with no real authority behind his voice. Famine had been threatening his rule for some time now. The elderly vizier bowed and left with his slaves holding the heavy slates. After agonizing minutes of silence that even unnerved the guards, the king got up and left the throne room.

The garden felt like an entirely different world than the one outside its walls. Here, all plants were green and flourishing. Like they didn’t share the curse the farmlands suffered. Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps the court-sorcerer really did know what he was doing to keep this plot of land green and healthy. The king kneeled before a grave. It was fresh and untouched by time or the weather. “I can’t go on like this.” He said to it. “I wish you were here. With me.”

Behind him the doors leading to his serene sanctuary suddenly slammed open. Rage flared up into the king as he shot up. His hand moved to the dagger he kept on his belt. “How dare you come here.” He yelled at the intruder. Before he realized it was Esamir. The court-sorcerer. “What do you want man. Can’t you see I was praying!?” He shouted. Though he loosened the grip on his dagger.

“My lord! I have found a way!” Esemir exclaimed as he carried a slate under his arm. He was clearly out of breath, yet still pushed on. Guards behind him were about to grab the court-sorcerer and escort him out. But a simple wave of the king told them to back off. “I have found a way.” He collapsed on his knees before his liege as he tried to catch his breath. The slate, luckily, did not fracture.

“Speak man!” The king was growing impatient.

“Do you know what an Fire Deer is, my lord?” Esemir asked as he managed to get up.

“It’s legendary. They say it’s a big burning stag roaming the lands. Damn it, Esemir. Those things are just legends. Besides, how would we even get such a thing here? We are far away from the western lands.” The king said.

“We don’t need to. Its heart, my lord. If we get its heart, we may bring it back here. I can perform a ceremony with. Make it a sacrifice and fuel the magic. I can make the farm land as rich as your garden!” Esemir said. In the depth of his heart he was grateful for his sister who had seen the fire deer from a temple in the sun-soaked lands to his west. Finally the land could be saved. But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to go west. There were talks about a fabled tutor there.

“Gods above man. Are you sure? Are you sure it can be done?” The king asked, grabbing Esemir by his arms. Esemir nodded, and the king pushed him aside to bark orders at his soldiers: “Get me the royal guard! Prepare for an expedition. We are going to save this land.”

Summary

Chief Vraendol requested the a Servant (rainbow-eyes) to come to him to ask whether or not the nearby village has a Servant of its own. It doesn’t, however the Servant by the name of Fallenor realizes that with the larders full and the workless hunters, the chief finally has the military power at his disposal to take over the neighboring village. In a bid to gather power, Fallenor asks to join the fight when it comes. Lending magic to the war efforts and thus gaining a favor of the chief.

Another Servant by the name of Esemir lives in a kingdom whose lands cannot produce enough food anymore. However he finds a way to revitalize the land. By sacrificing an Auroran Deer’s heart (referred to as a “fire deer” in the post) through a magical ritual. The king orders an expedition to find one of these deers. Thus begins his quest.

Prestige

Post Length 9.3K characters >> +4 Prestige to the Servants

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Qael'Naath

---

Qael’Naath had been resting upon one of the smaller floating islands of Xal-Zastarha. The glade gently flowed across the cloudy sky. Sun was beaming down upon him. Offering warmth and light. It felt pleasant, and much needed. Most of the work, for now, had been finished. All sapience that should have received his blessing, did so. So now he could rest a few centuries until the time came for the next steps of his plan. He closed his eyes and imagined how it would feel for a mortal to rest. They called it sleeping if he remembered correctly. But when he opened his eyes, something was off. The world had gone dark. Things were blurring around him. Worst of all, he could barely feel the touch of mana. It felt like he was losing his elsewise strong grip upon the substance.

He reached out to get a hold of it. For a moment it worked but then he could feel that force on the other side. It pulled his creation away from him. “No!” He screamed but the mana was slipping him. He attempted to create spells with what he could hold on to, to attack the force on the other side. Nothing happened, the divine spells just fluttered out of existence the moment they were cast. He was fighting a losing battle, yet he pushed on. Holding on to the barest bits of it. Until it had all fled him. Only then did he realize, it was more than mana that had vanished. Everything around him was gone. The god of magic had found himself alone in an endless, black void. Without the mana around him, he felt cold.

Despite his clear absence from Galbar, he could feel sapience pray to him. Some prayers were severely misguided but they still came to him. As they lit the flames in their hands or levitated rocks and begged for more. He floated through the void, searching for something, anything! The whispers of prayers never got louder or quieter. Nor did the void ever get warmer. After some time, it was impossible to say how long, Qael’Naath resigned to his fate. For the moment, he was chained to this realm. With that acceptance, his burden eased. Prayer whispers faded away. With that clarity came another realization. This place gave him much more power. It was better than Galbar! There were no meddling siblings or foolish mortals. Then he touched his chest. The wound, it had healed! A scar remained, surely. But the wound itself was finally gone! His excitement exploded from him. Mana was suddenly everywhere around him again. The cold was banished away as his realm began to glitter and feel warm again.

Then he got to work. That’s what he had to do. He had to make the realm perfect. First, he concentrated the mana and created the blue sun. It would form the very center of his domain. Then he began to coalesce mana into large, stone rocks floating in various orbits around the blue sun. Each place would become a masterpiece. For many Galbaric years, he slaved away at each garden or glade. Making sure each leaf hung exactly where it should. Offering just the right amount of shade and would move just enough in the wind. Streams of sapphire, emerald, and ruby flowed across these floating islands. Giving them even more splendor. Everything was adhering to some natural patterns. Even if it was impossible for mortals to see it.

This took time. A lot of time. All the while life on Galbar continued. Qael did not register this time. How could he? He was far too busy tending to his realm. Placing every bit of green or stone took time. Vast amounts of time. Yet after what at the end of it felt like thousands of years, Qael sat upon his first glade and marveled at the perfection he created. A realm, born and completely shaped by him. It reminded him of Xal-Zastarha. Then he felt a strange feeling. He felt hollow. Despite the millennia of effort, he suddenly felt as if his whole realm meant nothing. Yet he knew it was everything. Everything he ever wanted. No, not everything he wanted. There were two things missing. Two things that would make it all worth. As if summoned, a tear in his realm formed before him. The god felt strangely drawn to it. Could it be? A way back? Slowly he approached it. There was no way of knowing where it would lead. Perhaps it didn’t lead to Galbar? What did it matter!? It was a chance! With newfound determination, he jumped into the portal.

It led him to a barren field. For a moment he stumbled and nearly fell, but managed to use his staff to regain balance.

Summary

Qael was resting and wondering what it felt like to sleep. When he opens his eyes again, the world is a blur and mana is fleeing him. He tries to fight it and even tries to cast spells. To no avail. He finds himself in a large, empty void. After trying to find a way out (and failing), he realizes there is no way out and accepts it. He then realizes that he actually has much more power in this void than on Galbar. And his wound is healed! This realization explodes into the creation of mana in his realm. Which he then uses to build it up from scratch.

To Qael, if he had been paying attention, it would've felt like thousands of years had passed. As he meticulously crafted every floating island with extremem care. Once he was entirely done he rested upon his first island. Only to realize that his perfect creation is far from perfect. It is missing two things. As if summoned by that thought, a tear forms and takes him to Antiquity.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Nicolas the Stargazer

&

Ora the Servant

---

The girl had become a woman but the memory of that cave was still fresh in her mind. Later in life she realized that she probably met a god, perhaps a god of magic. She wasn’t sure. What she was sure about were the voices. She had heard a dozen different ones now, throughout her life. With some she had talked for years, explaining who she was and what she did. They talked about everything, including magic. Especially magic, for every time she shared how she created a flash in her hands, a few days later the person she spoke to many miles away enthusiastically told her that they managed to create the pulse of light as well. The same happened to her. Every time someone told her about their magic, she was able to quickly learn how to do it herself. Now she could conjure a small flame in her palm, levitate some stones and ripple water without touching it. Small things, sure. But more than most others could or wanted to do.

But their voices faded when their tribes moved on. Just like she moved on. Though every time she reached a place, she could hear another voice or two. And she learned a new thing. Not all voices were that of humans though. Ora had seen memories that stopped her heart and made her yelp in fear. She had severed those connections in an instant. Trolls had nearly killed her when she was young. The god had told her to be nice to everyone she spoke to, but she couldn’t speak to those who killed her family. Others were much more friendly. Though very different. One she met called himself Jhun. From his memory she saw that his skin was pitch-black and adorned with markings. He told her about rippling water.

Tonight she sat once again alone next to her fire. A rock floated gently between her two hands. Every now and then she closed her eyes to send another mental message to someone she was speaking with. Such was the nature of a Servant. The oldest servant, so far. As she had never met anyone older than her.

Nicolas had been sneaking through the night, and while not the best, he had some practice in the manner. However, as he noticed the woman levitating a rock in her hand, his attention slipped and he stepped hard on some twig or something and made a loud snap.

In an instant, lifted her hand towards where the branch snapped. “I’m warning you I will burn your skin off like the sun!” she threatened as she got up. Night brought trolls, but she could repel those. With her other hand she grabbed her walking stick, which had a sharpened end. “Run away now you ugly troll thing!” She shouted, even though she hadn’t seen the danger but what else could there be out skulking in the night?

“I am no troll.” he announced, before slowly walking in the light of the fire.

“Oh gods I’m so sorry!” Ora exclaimed as she lowered her arm. “I didn’t know, I didn’t see you!” She let him approach the fire. He looked like a wanderer, like him. Instantly she grabbed a bit of food she was carrying with her and politely offered it to Nicolas. “Again I’m sorry.” She said, a lot calmer now. “I’m not used to encountering people in the dark.” As she handed the food, she made a great effort to look straight into his eyes. As if she was searching for something.

“It is fine. And I am saited, I rarely go without food.” he said, making a big show of grabbing a poisonous berry from a nearby bush and eating it.

“No no no!” Ora nearly jumped him, but it was too late. He had already eaten the berry. Instead she held her palm over his mouth. “Open your mouth!” She shouted, though the worry was clear in her eyes. “Open your mouth I’m not letting you kill yourself here!” Her magic was already doing its working, though it was horribly unfocused and was just pulling Nicolas’ face towards her hand.

Nicolas had a sudden, instinctual reaction to fight, but he suppressed it. Once he had calm himself, he did find this interesting, he had heard of sorcery before, but he was skeptical of its existence. He swallowed.

“You need to get it out, now!” She said, as she tried to calm herself down. Damn it, why couldn’t magic heal something!? “You just need to puke, I’m really sorry.” She said, and in an effort to do so balled her hand and tried to punch him in the guts as hard as she could. So he had to spit it out. Hopefully.

“You don’t need to worry about me.” he said, side-stepping her punch. “I have my own talents.”

She stumbled next to him, and even nearly fell before she regained her balance. When she turned around she was just waiting until his neck would start swelling and he’d start clawing at his throat. Instead nothing happened. From his eyes she knew he wasn’t like her, a Servant. Yet she hadn’t met many non-Servant sorcerers. Actually, she hadn’t met many sorcerers directly at all. At most she talked with them in her mind. “How didn’t you die? Is that magic? Did you use magic so you can’t die?” She asked, her fear turning into curiosity as she inched closer to him.

“It is a long story.” he said, his eyes shifting to the side slightly, thinking internally it was more awkward than long, “But I have been blessed where I don’t need to concern myself with such things. I started with the less poisonous berries, and over time, I stopped noticing the difference between them.”

“I see.” She said, as she slowly returned to her own sack of goods and sat down before the fire. She bid him to sit down as well. “I think we have time.” She said with a friendly smile, before she prepared her barrage: “The night is long and calm, for the most part. We’ve got time. I would love to hear the story of how you got blessed. What god blessed you? Can you do other things than eat poisonous berries? How did it feel? How did he look, your god? Do they really walk amongst us like the stories say?”

Nicolas walked closer to the fire, but didn’t sit down. “It has been many years since I have encountered a god.” he said, still looking as youthful as ever. “Though my god, he is not here on Galbar, he is there.” he said pointing towards the stars. “If you look carefully, you can see some of them are shifting, more than the others.”

“You can sit if you want to. I’m Ora, by the way.” Ora said as she laid down fully on her back to stare at the stars. They were beautiful, always. Though she never understood them. They moved, or so she thought. Were they following a path, or was it all just pure chaos? It was fascinating, though she felt like she rarely had the time to observe them. Most of her free time she spent on helping Servants, or trying to learn more magic. Yet there was one thing that echoed through her head. “Do you think they’re all stay up there, the Gods I mean?” Then she turned towards him. “Also, how old are you?” He looked far too young to even use the words ‘many years’. Ora herself was only nineteen winters old.
“From my understanding, the gods go where they please. As for my age, have you ever heard the story of the dying star? I was witness to it.” he replied.

Ora sat up straight at the mention of a dying star. “They can die!?” She said, full of surprise. To her they just looked like tiny, little ethereal, eternal fireflies high in the heavens. They always seemed constant. To have seen one die, it felt impossible. “H-How can you…” She tried to understand. Then she remembered a story. One told by a very old lady. People never believed her flash in the night sky. To be so old, in an instant she shot up. “Are you a god!?” It would explain everything. The eating of poisonous berries, the strange distance he seemingly kept, his age, his knowledge of the gods. He just could’ve lied about being blessed.

“I am no god, but I do have the trust of one. I have only sparsely talked with him, but he has informed me that no more stars will fade from the night sky. If you wish, I could demonstrate that I still bleed red.” he said.

She looked up at the stars again. “That one time must have been very special then.” She muttered. But then the offer came for the stranger to draw his own blood. “No. No I believe you.” She said. Though then then quickly asked: “Though, if you really want me to believe you, then perhaps you could tell me your name?”

“It is Nicolas.” he replied, with his eyes still fixed on the stars.

Nicolas, she would tell the others his name. Perhaps they would meet him as well. But then the question remained of what he was doing here. “Nicolas. That’s a very odd name.” Ora said. “So why were you blessed, Nicolas?”

“Only the gods can answer that. What I do know is that I must travel west, across the great waters. And that I must assist others in a way I am not currently cognizant of.” he answered.

“But there is nothing west. That’s where the world ends. At the Great Waters.” Ora said but then she realized who she was speaking to. Could someone like Nicolas believe in folly? Did his god play a cruel trick on him? Or was he given knowledge of something different entirely? “Right?”

“I have seen the lands beyond the great waters, or at least one of them. A land of gentle, rolling hills and graceful, colorful animals. However, for the time being, it might as well be another world, for any attempt to swim across that domain would lead to certain death.” he replied.

“Magic could help.” Ora offered. It could, maybe. She wasn’t sure. It couldn’t right now. Nobody knows enough of it. Yet someday it could be strong enough in everyone that it becomes useful to everything. Including to a God-Blessed.

“Well, I must be off. The night is still young.” he said, slowly walking away.

She wanted to stop him and go with him, but then quickly realized she had to sleep instead. If he still had to travel, then he probably often traveled at night. She couldn’t. Her duty laid with the people she spoke to. Those awake at day. So instead she said: “Safe travels, Nicolas! And if ever find someone with my eyes they’ll help you however they can. I’ll make sure of that.” And she would, because she already sat down and closed her eyes to tell everyone she was connected with the story of the night wandering, gold-blessed stranger: Nicolas.

Summary

Ora is camping in the woods. Nicolas disturbs her and she mistakes him for a troll. To make up for it she offers him food but Nicolas has his own and eats a poisonous berry. Ora doesn’t know he cannot be poisoned so tries to get it out of him. In vain, though, she believes him that he cannot be poisoned. The two talk about the gods of Galbar and the stars. For a moment she thinks Nicolas is a god himself, but he quickly assures her he is not. Finally they talk about his purpose in life and he tells her about the far away land across the Great Waters. Then they part ways, though Ora promises that anyone with her eyes will help him if he asks for it.

Prestige

10K Characters
The Servants >> +5 Prestige
Nicolas The Stargazer >> +5 Prestige

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Qael'Naath

---

“Just imagine Oraelia. When she’s high above.” The man said as he sat on a rock inside a cave. For the past three days, he had done nothing but run. A troll had destroyed the little family he had. Now he was hoping he could reach the fabled place called Haven. They said it was a god-made paradise. Ro wasn’t so sure about that. Never the less, he knew there would be humans there. Or more importantly, there wouldn’t be trolls there.

“I’m trying dad. It’s just so dark in here.” His daughter, Ora said. Named after the goddess during better times. She was nine, yet despite her young age she had already seen too much. Right now she stood in the cave with her hand out but facing away from it. She was almost afraid of it. “I don’t think lady Oraelia wants me to make light.” She said as she was shaking head to toe. The cave was cold and damp, but Ro found it the best hiding place from trolls. “Can’t we just light a fire?”

“No fire!” The father said. Lighting a fire would draw gods knew what towards them. “Just concentrate. You can do it. I believe in you.” Those were lies. He barely believed in himself now. A day ago they had encountered a troll while they were running. A troll that took Ora. She would’ve died but in his rage, a flash of light akin to the sun burst forth from his hand and seared the troll’s hand. It had released Ora and ever since then, Ro had been practicing that flash. He had only cast it twice since. Still, he was hoping Ora could use this divine given power as well.

Then a stranger entered the cave. He suddenly appeared, without Ro noticing. The man had come far too close to them. Ro shot up from his rock and held a stone in one hand. Ora stayed behind him, partially hidden in the shadows the little bits of low moonlight cast into the cave. “Calm now, my friend.” The stranger said in a soothing voice. “I come in peace.” Suddenly light flickered in his own hand. It wasn’t a sudden burst of searing light. Instead, it was gentle and illuminating. Yet there was no fire in his hand. Only pure light.

Ro let his guard down again. The stranger came closer. He has oddly dressed yet still clearly some sort of disciple of Oraelia. When he got close enough Ro could see the six eyes peering from under the hood. None the less, he did not fear the stranger. Ora, on the other side, did. The stranger took his place on a rock a few feet away from Ro and his daughter. “Would you tell a man your story then, Strangers?” He asked.

“We’re running!” Said an overly nervous Ora.

The stranger leaned forward to look at her. “Oh? And what are you running away from, little one?”

“Big ugly things!” She exclaimed.

“Is that so?” The stranger turned to Ro now. “I happen to have seen a big ugly thing a day away from here. His entire arm was burned like he had put it in a fire.”

“Dad burned him!” Ora said. Ro just nodded in confirmation.

“Oraelia blessed me with light to fight the troll scourge.” He solemnly said. He patted his daughter on the head with a strange mixture of despair and hope on his face. “I was hoping she would’ve blessed my daughter as well. I’ve been trying to teach her, but it seems like it just won’t happen.”

The hooded man nodded understandingly. Then he turned back to Ora. “I want you to do something for me. I want you to hold out your hand like your dad did and think about the sun really hard. Okay?”

Ora nodded and did as she was told. Even though deep down she knew it wouldn’t work. Her dad and her have been trying for a long time now. She closed her eyes and thought about the sun. About how bright and nice and warm it was during the summer days. She heard a gasp suddenly and opened her eyes.

Ro picked her up and hugged her tight. “You did it! You did it! Oraelia blessed! You did it!”

But to Ora, her father’s voice wasn’t the only one she heard. Instead, she heard something else too. Your father cannot hear me. A whispering voice said to her. You’re not blessed by Oraelia, little one. What you did was magic! Which can do so much more than cast a light. You’ll learn that quick enough now. You’ll learn many things quickly from now on. And you’ll start hearing others like you’re hearing me. Now try it. Talk to me, without moving your lips.

Ora opened her mouth for a moment, they closed it. He said no lips. How do you talk without lips? Maybe if she thought really hard about it. Like this? She asked.

Yes, little one. That is exactly how I meant it. You’ll be asking and answering a great many questions soon but I want you to remember one thing forever: be kind to the others you’ll talk to like this. They’re going through the same thing as you are.

“I must go.” The Stranger said with his full voice now, as he rose up.

“So soon already?” A surprised Ro said as he put his daughter back down. “You must eat something with us.”

The stranger excused himself though: “I cannot. I’m afraid I must push forward. Ever forward. Blessings of the gods upon, and especially the blessings of Oraelia.” Ora and Ro bid him farewell. But remained in the cave for the night. The next morning Ro decided to continue one. Though when they came out of the cave and into the light, he noticed something different about his daughter. “Are you okay, Ora?”

“Yes…is there something wrong?” She asked.

“Well, I don’t think so.” He said with a reassuring smile. Yet in reality, he was a little worried. The eyes of his daughter weren’t beautifully blue as they had once been. Now they had little shards of a hundred different colors in them. She didn’t seem to feel anything, but he was still worried.

Ora tugged at his arm. “Daddy, what’s magic?”

---

Work had been endlessly tiring for Qael. Every sapient race so far had been blessed with an affinity towards mana now. The encounter, and the creation of the Servants, had emptied him to the last bit of power he had. Now he wanted nothing more than to return to Xal-Zastarha and rest until his power returned to him. Yet as he flew through his Streams, his mana began to tug on him again. It had found another place. Akin to the well but not entirely. It was…strange. Still, it was a place of supposed healing so he let it take him there. The Stream led him towards the south of the Boreal Highlands. There, at the foot of two large mountains, he found a gentle lake. Yet it was unlike the Lake of Radiance, which felt warm to the touch. This, to Qael’s divine senses, felt cold and numbing. Still, he landed at the banks of the lake and looked over it. Mist of azure and silver floated over it, and the surface looked like an almost perfect mirror.

Only when he approached the lake did he realize the extent of his own desperation now. The wound hadn’t healed for quite some time now. Oraelia was gone and Qael couldn’t find her. He looked into the pool for a moment and saw his own six eyes peering back. Or perhaps he didn’t want to find Oraelia. Maybe he didn’t want to be healed? No, no that was a foolish thought. He had to heal and continue on with his duty. Something began to gnaw at him in his mind though. He walked closer towards the lake, right until he nearly touched the waters. For the first time, he realized just how deeply tired he was. Or how untrue his own thoughts about tiredness were. He wasn’t tired. That suggested that energy could return. For the first time he realized that perhaps, he no longer had the ability to be as energetic as he was at birth. Something had deeply, profoundly changed him. The answer was obvious but Qael’Naath could not admit it. Nothing has been right since he expelled the essence that named itself Qullqiya from his self. Worse, that very essence had seemingly taken something vitally important of him with it.

Did Qullqiya take his capacity to care?

Rage rose into his heart. This lake, it was nothing but a horrible creation! Something that would indoctrinate you and accept your worst ideas! No, the god of magic was complete! The expulsion of chaos was a necessity, as is it’s destruction! With pure spite, he outstretched his hand. Mana, not divine power, heeded his command and rushed across the lake. Freezing it and dulling its elsewise mirror-like reflection. He flew up again towards the stream. Had he become so desperate for healing that he nearly accepted the idea that his sister was necessary? This wound was becoming dangerous now.

Summary

Qael finds a father trying to teach his daughter how to use a gift he thought came from Oraelia (but is actually magic). The god of magic taught the daughter how to create a flash of light and repel a troll. He also turned her into the first Servant and explained to her that in due time, she’ll be talking with people across great distances with many questions and that she should try and answer those.

After he created the first Servant, Qael finds himself once more at a place of healing: Tearfall Lake. The reflection of the lake makes him realize a few things before those realizations enrage him. With magic, he freezes over the lake and flies away. The lake’s ice will melt over the course of a few days.

MP And Prestige

Qael’Naath Start: 0MP/1DP
- 1DP >> Create the Servants (of the Winds)

Servants

The Servants' purpose is to learn and spread the various ways mortal-kind will use its magic. As such ways are always influenced through race, culture, geography and other factors. To prevent great concentrations of Servants, he created them to be born often further away from each other. Various other factors like the density of mana where they are born and the proximity to certain holy sites also play also decide whether or not a child is born as a Servant. Servants at birth are marked by the rainbow flecks in their eyes. Their ability to communicate with each other across long distances means that from a young age they will be taught how to cast magic by their peers. Due to their ability to learn magic so fast, they are often perceived as highly talented sorcerers.

This Holy Order does not explicitly revere Qael’Naath. A Servant might be a disciple of Gibbou, Oraelia, Yamat or any other god. However, no Servant can ever be a Druid and most feel absolute aversion towards the Hir due to how closely bound their lives are with Mana.

Mindbound II – Threads of mana connect the Servants’ minds. Carrying across words, thoughts and even fragments of memories. Should one sufficiently hone this connection, they may speak with one another across great distances. These threads are created on their own between the Servants. However, they can be severed by either side of the thread. These threads often give the Servants a sense of unity. However, it does not override existing biological or social factors. Highly solitary creatures may several all connections as a Servant they have. While servants born within two hostile tribes may severe their connection through intense hatred. It is also important to note that information cannot be forcibly taken through these threads. Whatever kind of information is passed along is always done so voluntarily.

Mastheyodi I – The Servants are both bright pupils and gifted teachers of the arcane arts. They have an almost supernatural ability to learn any new magic they encounter. In fact, they can gain insight and understanding of the magical they find through observation alone. However, being taught the magic will greatly speed up the process. Once a Servant mastered the magic, they may teach it as well. They become excellent teachers of that way of magic. Making sure that any student they mentor receives the best magical education one can get.

Qael’Naath End: 0MP/0DP

Tearfall Lake
8.3K characters >> +4 Prestige

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Qael'Naath

&

Lucia

---

The stream had taken Qael’Naath back to Galbar, where he finished his work on the various metals of Galbar. Gold would be the weakest conduit for magic. With barely a noticeable effect. Platinum would ward against magic, while palladium would attract and hold mana. Every metallic element he had taken from the void was given its own special effect upon magic. But when he was done, he felt the mana once more tugging at him. Hope was in short supply now. His wound had stopped to heal and it would seem like nothing in the world could help him. Still, he let go of the early bounds and let the mana carry him towards his destination. As he floated through the skies he remarked that they were no longer so serene or constant. Instead great swathes of colors danced high above in the heavens. Akin to his own aurora he created above The Luminant. Qael crossed the great, eastern swamps, then the highlands until he almost reached the sun-touched fields of the Prairie. The mana slowly put him down a hundred feet away from what looked like a mighty temple standing atop a hill. Its placing confused the god of magic. There was no real source of stone nearby. Slowly he approached it along the path. He noted the colorful berries all around, and the warmth the structure radiated. If he was a mortal, it would have felt beyond pleasant. However to him it felt off. LIke he was not yet deserving of such warmth and pleasantness. Such things were for those whose duty had ended.

The path was long and windy, but it carried with it a pleasant breeze and the sweet smell of spring flowers. The pillars began to grow larger as he went, until he rounded the final curve and could see before him a wide open area, surrounded by the largest of the pillars, trees and other plants. In the middle was a pool of water, where the sunlight focused down into it, producing a white glow. A girl was picking berries across from him. She faced away from him, as she picked and ate. Oddly enough, she wore no clothes.

Qael carefully touched the grand pillars. Even if they were stone, they felt warm to the touch. Carefully he knocked on the stone, after which he introduced himself: “Apologies for my unannounced intrusion. I am merely hoping you would point a dear old creature like me to the place of healing that is supposed to be near.” Perhaps it was the pool, perhaps just the sunlight of the pool or perhaps it were the berries. The mana could not tell him.

At the sound of his voice, the girl, or perhaps woman, turned to face him. Hers were curious eyes, large and golden. The same as her hair and eyebrows, a distinct contrast to her skin color, but exotic in nature. She stood up and looked at him, uncertainty upon her face. After a moment she spoke, her voice even more distinctive. ”You are… Hurt?” she asked him, as her hands fell to her sides.

“I am afraid that I am.” He said, offering a faint smile she probably could not see from under the hood. “It is a foolish wound, truly.” He slowly approached the illuminated pool in the middle, as he continued to lean on his own staff. It looked familiar, slightly akin to the aquamarine waters of the Lake in the Luminant. Yet he did not feel the same healing radiance from it. “Yet foolish or not, a wound is a wound and requires tending. Please, if you would just show me where I could heal myself, then I will be on my way again.” For he had many duties still to attend to. Not the least of which was finding out what his devilish sister was planning.

”It is not the pool.” she said, walking over to him. ”That only cleans, while everything else nourishes.” she stood before him now, eyeing him over. She then said, ”Show me your wound.”

Now that would be a complication. He didn’t want to show the wound to a mortal. There was no telling what it would do to them. But what else was there to do? What choices did he have? He tried it all. With a heavy heart he touched his own garb with a finger, right where he once cut himself open. The cloth parted ways and kept itself open. Revealing the deep blue skin underneath, and the partially healed wound into pure Divinity.

There was a moment of surprise expressed upon the woman’s face, but that quickly turned to interest. ”You are… Like Mother? A god?” she asked, bringing a hand to her chin as she leaned closer to study the wound.

“I am.” He confessed. There was a glimmer of happiness in Qael’s eyes though. For he saw curiosity, not fear. Most mortals by now wouldn’t be able to fully handle an encounter with a god. Or so he believed. “Your mother, who is she?” He asked, returning the curiosity.

”My mother, her name is Oraelia.” she said, standing back up to face Qael. ”And she named me Lucia.” she then frowned slightly, ”I am sorry, but I do not have the power to heal a divine wound, only mother could.”

Qael let out an exhausted sigh as the cloth of his form began to knit itself together again. “I am not surprised.” He meekly said. Alas, he would have to find Oraelia if he wanted to be healed. Yet there was little time left to find the divine. Still, he did not want to leave just yet. The mortal, she intrigued him. Slowly he sat down in front of the pool, and bid her to do the same. “I would ask a moment of your time then. Contact with my siblings has been sparse at best.” And relations were generally stressed. “You say your mother is Oraelia? I was not aware my sister had made sapient life already.” And the mana had been quite susceptible to those sapient thoughts. Yet it never alerted him of her kind. “Where are the others of your kin?”

Lucia did as asked, dipping her feet into the water as she sat down. She did not respond right away, but when she did, she did not look at Qael. ”Mother said I was unique. She told me about the humans who live in this land, and the desert people whose name escaped her. She said I look like both of them, without being either.” she then shrugged and looked up. ”So, I have no kin. I am the only one.”

Qael’Naath was rather amazed by the very existence of Lucia now. A child of a god. A singular creation given an inkling of divine power. He did not think it was possible. Still, it felt a little bit lonely. To be in such a big, wonderful, warm place without anyone to talk to. “It seems my sister missed a fair few others.” He said with a smile. “There are strange people to the far east of here. They live in a swamp and hide their faces from everyone. Even children wear masks to hide their visage from their parents. To the far south, you’ve got human with sharp, pointy ears that live in the dark, inside of deep caves. Then there are my own people: great lizards and toads that live on floating islands. Finally, you have the trolls. Most are giant creatures. Though some are as big as a human child.” It felt good to take a moment and talk about his own experiences. “So what must you do here, Lucia, daughter of Oraelia? Do you tend…” Qael realized he did not know the purpose of the temple he was sitting in. Surely it wasn’t just to clean those inside of it. “…this serene creation?”

She listened intently with curiosity in her eyes, before giving a small smile and a nod. ”For now. Mother wished for me to stay here for a time as I get my bearings together, and if any humans come across this, I am to welcome them here and tell them of its purpose. This Sunlit Temple was mother’s idea, to give a small bit of relief to weary travelers, and give them a safe place to rest before they continue on whatever journeys they might be on. It is very peaceful here, and I enjoy it.” she said.

His sister was far better than he was. Qael realized that now. She was so caring towards mortals, all of them. The very thought felt strange. To care for something so temporary. So insignificant. What did it matter? The Sunlit Temple would, at best, become a waystation. A place between two greater places. “Why?” He muttered, as his six eyes looked beyond Lucia towards the great columns. “Why does your mother care so much for common mortals?”

Lucia leaned back, and kicked her legs softly in the water sending ripples. ”Do you not?” she asked, before continuing, ”All life is precious, and unique in its own way, she said. And my mother cares for everything, not just ‘common’ mortals, as you put them. Their lives might not be so significant as a gods, but they’re still a living, breathing thing. Should they not be treated with care and compassion? How do you view us?” she finally asked, her voice holding no anger, but a genuine curiosity.

“Fleeting, temporary, mortal.” Qael answered honestly. As he dared to put his foot into the water. It still felt wrong. Unearned. Yet pleasant as well. “Make no mistake, I have nothing but admiration and love for mortal-kind. Their ability to die gives them a perspective of life that we, the gods, can never understand. But as I said, mortal lives are but fleeting things. The one absolute in their lives is that it will end.” His gaze rose up from the warm waters to look at Lucia. “So what, in that great tapestry of life, is but a single mortal? Less than a thread. Invisible on its own. Given only prominence by the many other invisible threads woven around it. Yet clearly my sister thinks differently.” He said, not with malice in his voice. Instead, he was curious, and a little confused. “Perhaps she knows more than I do. Perhaps I missed something vital.”

Lucia said nothing for a while. In fact, she put a hand in the water and twirled her finger around, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. ”Ah, I see. she began, turning her gaze to him. ”Life is a fickle thing, my mother knows this. She told me that death was part of the cycle, a natural end so that more can flourish. You love us, and admire us, but you do not care for us. That, I think, is what you are missing. I mean no offense when I say these things, but without a thread, there can be no tapestry. Yes, we are temporary… Even the sun sets eventually, but that doesn’t mean it can’t shine brightly before fading into the night.”

The god of magic took no offense. Lucia spoke with wisdom. He could not find himself caring for mortals indeed. It was an odd feeling like he was suddenly made aware of something missing in him. Maybe when the world was better established and mortals had learned magic, he could ponder upon her words some more. “I will long reflect upon this conversation, Lucia. I am grateful for your insight. Ask me for a boon, and perhaps I can give it to you.” He said as he rose up from the pool.

She looked at him inquisitively, before asking, ”How can I ask of you a boon when I don’t even know your name, or what you reside over?” she asked simply, but with a small smile.

“I am Qael’Naath, God of Magic. Lord over Mana.” Qael said.
She looked him over again and stood up, water droplets of light rolling down her legs. She bowed her head slightly in respect. ”Nice to meet you, Qael’Naath.” she then rose her head up. ”Do tell me, for my mother never gave mention of this magic or mana, but what is it? What does it do?” she asked.

He smiled. “It does everything.” With both his hands he formed a cup and drew the mana in. As more flooded in, it took the shape of a bright orb with endless colors shifting and changing. “Mana is a substance that allows all who can control it to alter the world around them. It could be a dedication to your mother.” As a demonstration, he turned the bright colored orb of mana into a miniature sun, though he damped the intensity greatly. “Or her sister, Gibbou, of the Moon.” The orb turned to a grey stone with the same, darker, dead seas and craters on its surface. "Or to you.” In an instant, the orb shifted shape and became a statuette of Lucia, made from the very stone of the Sunlit temple. Then he let his hands go, and the statuette crumbled into pieces. Yet as the bits of stone fell they quickly transformed back to mana and none hit the ground.

Her eyes went wide as she looked at the display, a yearning awakening within them. ”I… How does one learn this?” she asked him, with excitement in her voice.

Qael dearly wished he could stay and teach her. Clearly she was not entirely mortal. That would be impossible if she was a solitary creation of Oraelia, with gifted powers of healing. Yet that status might make her worthy of a gift instead. “I cannot teach you. Sadly, my time is coming to an end here. Duty calls and it does not wait.” He held out his hand, and once more mana converged to a point floating above it. Yet now it solidified instantly into a stone orb with carvings upon it. When the creation was complete, it fell into his hand and the carvings lit up with a soft blue glow.

“Good day my lady.” A cheery, excited voice emanating from the orb said. “I am Orb and I was specifically created to teach one how to use magic. Shall we start your first lesson?”

“This is my gift to you. It knows all about magic and mana that one should know, and it is created specifically to teach you.” He handed Lucia the glowing orb and took his goodbye: “I hope our path crosses again.” With that, he flew up into the sky towards the nearest stream of mana, and let it take him away to his next duty.

Lucia blinked, and before she knew it he was gone and she was left with Orb. She looked it over again before bringing it before her face with a wide smile.

”Where do we begin?”

Summary

Qael finds the Sunlit Temple and hopes whatever is inside will heal him. He enters, finding Lucia. When he asks what will do the healing, Lucia said she would. Though when Qael shows his wound she realizes her powers are not strong enough. Qael expected it, though is still distraught. He sits down and asks Lucia who her mother is. She answers honestly. Then the two have a frank conversation about their views on life. Qael realized he is missing something and offers a boon to Lucia for her wisdom, who first asks who he actually is and what he has dominion over. When he answers and shows off some magical powers Lucia desires to learn. Qael has no time though, and instead creates Orb. A semi-sentient artifact specifically created to teach someone sorcery and the inner workings of mana.

Might & Prestige

Qael’Naath - Start: 1MP / 2DP
- 1MP >> Alter properties of various metals so they have an effect on magic.
- 1DP >> Create Artifact: Orb

Orb

- 1DP for Magic Mentor I, 1 Free Title for Magic Mentor II
Orb
Magic Mentor II – Orb has a mind of its own, allowing it to speak to people around it in their native language. It does this to teach them magic. As a creation of Qael’Naath himself, Orb understands the inner workings of mana and the supposed mysteries of sorcery. As a mentor, it will assume a pupil. Who it will then first teach how to cast mana sorcery. Over the course of what should generally be a decade for most sapient life, he will transfer knowledge of sorcery and how willpower shapes the mana. Once the pupil has proven himself a capable student of magic, studies might delve deeper into the inner workings of mana itself.

Qael’Naath - End: 0MP / 1DP

Lucia
Start Prestige = 5
10k Plus chars
Ending = 10 Prestige

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Qael'Naath

---

Had it been more than a few days? Perhaps a few weeks or months. Truly, it could have been a few years. Qael’Naath couldn’t tell really. Time had passed, that’s all he knew. Enough time that he could carefully sculpt a few of the lesser islands floating around Xal-Zastarha. The island formation had begun to float over the prairies now. It was only when he laid down to rest and observe the Itztli and Eloxochitli form tribes and spread across the jungle island that he felt that faint, familiar tugging. His mana had once more found something with healing properties. Through the time he was working, his wound continued to heal, but also continued to ache. It held him back, kept him slow. There was now no telling what Qullqiya had achieved. Though it would seem she had done it in secret still. Alas, with the hope he set forth to find whatever his creation had found.

In due time he found himself watching a tribe of fur-dressed humans walking along a great river. Yet he couldn’t immediately find what could possibly help him. Not deterred he slowly came down from the clouds and landed just beyond the horizon from the humans. Then, like a mere mortal earthbound, he approached them. In his current form, he would look odd at best. With tips of tentacles falling from his elsewise dark hood, which housed his three pairs of glowing eyes. He did his best to suppress his aura of divinity. Preferring to look as a regular stranger. Though as with all strangers, it made the tribe he was approaching weary. They lifted sticks and stones, ready to strike. For a moment Qael thought he would have to kill them all to find out what could heal him. It would’ve been a quick thing, he would turn them all to dust. He raised a hand, his fingers were ready to snap. Then an older woman came rushing towards her younger folks and pushed the makeshift weapons down. “Down you fools. Is this what Oraelia taught you? A stronger comes bearing us no harm. We will welcome him.” She motioned Qael to follow him, as he lowered his arm. She was wrong, Qael could very well mean harm to them. But it was always better to spare an entire tribe. Their numbers were not yet prosperous enough.

“Come. Come.” The elder said. She guided the God of Magic to a small circle of people, who were sitting on the ground and eating raw vegetables. She bid him to sit down and offered some food. Which he respectfully too.

Still, Qael’Naath could not see the source of healing power. Nothing stood out. Nothing glowed or looked exceptionally well crafted. Everywhere he looked he just saw furs, sticks, and stones. He would have to draw out the healing powers. “What do you know about magic?” He asked the elder.

Who looked up with astonishment. “Magic? You mean the power of the gods?” She said.

“No.” Qael shook his head. How foolish had he been? He gave them the power but never taught anyone. Would teaching them all the basis of his magic take too much time? Or would they elsewise never discover it? Things to ponder upon. For now, he decided to turn the situation into his favor. “I mean real magic. The power that lets normal people like you or me change the world around us.”

“Such power exists?” A curious youth who crept ever closer asked.

“Netha! We should be thankful for what the gods have chosen to give us. It should be enough.” The elder chastised the youth, though she still didn’t take her eyes off Qael.

She wouldn’t help him but youthfulness was always a good source for willing experiments. “Open your hand.” Qael said. “Have you ever seen fire? Like when lightning strikes a tree?”

The youth nodded. Once he had seen it. An entire tree consumed by fire. He had been in awe with it.

“Good. Now imagine that fire in the palm of your hand. Imagine it burning.” The youth’s will was quite weak. At this rate, he would barely create a spark after several years. Luckily, Qael was near. With a single thought, he aided in the creation of the fire. First, it was nothing a small, candle-like flame. But it grew and grew until the man had an orb of fire float in his hands. The people around him recoiled, especially the elder. Yet Netha was overjoyed as he looked into the fire. Which he thought he was controlling. But, a god can give and a god can take it. With another single thought, he tipped the balance of the spell. The fire got out of the youth’s control. It began to burn erratically and shifted violently. Growing and shrinking again and again. The man’s amazement quickly turned into terror as he realized he did not control the fire anymore. Then it happened: the fire was fully destabilized and spread to his hand. Burning away the skin as the orb itself shrank for the last time and exploded. He screamed. His hand was horribly burnt and broken by the fire. Everyone gasped in horror and inched away from the fire except for Qael, who continued to watch on.

“The Oaken Branch!” Someone yelled. “Quickly get Oraelia’s gift.” Qael’s thoughts perked up when he heard the name of one of his sisters. So Oraelia had been here? He waited patiently as someone rushed over with an oaken stick with green vines around it. To Qael'Naath it looked like nothing but a stick at first, but now he saw its divine properties. They placed the tip of the branch on the youth’s forehead. The flesh and skin began to mend. First, the pain got worse and the man screamed. But after a while, his entire hand was back to normal. If one could see under the god’s hood, they would’ve seen something akin to a smile. The artifact would be useful for mortals.

“Magic is a curse!” spat the Elder as she lifted the youth up. “We would be wise to never practice it.”

That gained a frown from Qael’Naath. “It was not magic’s fault.” He said, defending his creation. He outstretched his own hand and spawned the very same orb of fire in the middle of his palm. He changed its color, shifting from red and orange to bright green, then to purple, then to blue. He grew it, and shrunk it again. Most of the tribespeople tried to get away. But when they saw that the stranger had it all well under control, they inched closer. “Magic is an incredible gift that should not be taken lightly. It lets you alter the world around you through a substance called mana. Let me teach all of you the proper way. Stretch your hand.” The recently burned youth did not obey, but a few others did.

“Now imagine the fire in the palm of your hand. Imagine a small flame. Then demand that it exists. Do not want it. Wanting means longing. It implies inaction.” He rose up and walked in between those with their hands outstretched. Some were getting closer. “Be arrogant.” He said. “Tell the world to change how it is. Do not accept anything else.” Tiny flames flickered into existence for a moment but then died. Excitement rose up amongst the few fledgling sorcerers. Qael’Naath was almost proud of them. “Good. Again.” For days he wandered amongst those of the tribe who were willing to embrace his gift of magic. At most there ten people that could bring a small candle flame into existence for longer than a few counts. Still, in the grand scheme of things, it would be a success. He ate with them and pretended to sleep with them but all he cared for was their magic and Oraelia’s gift. Still his wound continued to ache. Every night he had seen the Oaken Branch kept by someone with too much of a grip. He needed a moment alone with the branch. He got it, at the end of the week. When he simply had to ask for it. The Elder had watched him with suspicion but gave it none the less.

That night, Qael laid down at the edge of the group. When everyone except those few who stood guard fell asleep, he slipped into the shadows with the Branch. Under a tree, away from the group, he slowly lowered the branch tip against his forehead. In an instant, he felt that familiar tingle again. Traveling through his body. He waited a little bit, but in his heart, he already knew it was in vain. Oraelia’s Branch didn’t have the power either. Exhausted, he put the Branch down.

“Are you hurt, stranger?” A voice came. Qael recognized it. The Elder. She had followed him into the forest.

“I’ve been hurt for a long time now.” He said. His exhaustion made pretending hard. He sat down on a fallen tree. “For longer than you can imagine, I’ve been traveling this land in search of a cure. Something that heals me. Everything failed. Every creation of my siblings was useless against my affliction. And it's making me so tired.”

“What is it that ails you? Surely Oraelia, Mother of Life could help you.” The Elder said.

Qael’Naath sniggered and tossed her the Branch. “That is her creation, and I suspect I’ve found another one of hers far down south. In a wonderous land of a thousand colors. Even I must admit that I find it beautiful. Within that land, there is a lake akin to that Branch. It heals all physical wounds of all mortals.” He said. “Neither have cured me. How could they?”

“You said it cured all mortals.” The Elder said. “Yet it cannot cure you. Who are you?”

She was clever, curious. If she wasn’t so against magic, she would’ve made an excellent servant to magic. Instead, she had sworn her life to many of the better gods. Oraelia, a Cadien and Neiya who Qael did not know, and surely several others. “I am the God of Magic, and I came here hoping for a cure for a self-inflicted wound.”

The Elder did not seem particularly phased. “I have seen gods before in my life.” She explained. “Is your magic evil?”

“Magic is all, Elder,” Qael explained. He gently raised his hand. Tiny lights slowly flowed towards it. Creating a big orb of illumination. It bathed the forest in golden light. Akin to those of the sun. "It's in the air and in the water. In the trees and dirt. It can give you everything. Good or bad. That is the beauty of it."

“I’m not sure that I like it. Perhaps it is… too much power.” She said, as she looked towards the orb for a moment, and then away. Like the sun, it was still hard to look at directly. “The gods give us what we need, and we make do.” She said.

“Admirable stubbornness, Elder.” Qael’Naath said.

The old lady gave the god a gentle smile. “I am old. With my own two eyes, I have seen the gods. I think I’m allowed to be a little stubborn.”

Qael’Naath just nodded. “I must go now, Elder.” It was her time to nod now. And in an instant, he was gone. As if he had never been there. The orb began to slowly fade until it was thoroughly extinguished. Holding the Oaken Branch she walked back to her tribe. Ready to tell them a new tale. The tale of how she met the wounded god of magic.

Summary

Qael'Naath goes to find Oraelia's healing object once again and finds a tribe of humans. In an attempt to reveal what item it is, he deliberately destabilized a spell of someone. Then, because the Elder called magic dangerous, he chose to teach those who wanted to learn for a week. They are now able to conjure a small flame. But it's something. Then he takes the Branch in the middle of the night and attempts to heal himself. It fails.

The Elder finds him, and they exchange words about magic and the views of mortals on the gods. Finally, Qael leaves the tribe.

Might, DP & Prestige

Post length: 10.3K
Oaken Branch >> +5 Prestige

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Qael'Naath

---

The God of Magic was quite exhausted when he finally touched down upon his own island. The wound still ached, and while it had healed while on his travels, it was still draining him. The isle itself was still an ashen scar in the skies. Copses of burned trees were standing out like black, skeletal fingers. The once beautiful lotus pond where Qael’Naath had released himself from his chaotic impulses had been so thoroughly destroyed that if he didn’t know its exact location, he would’ve never found it. But the Crown had finally quieted down. He had to rebuild, but first he had to know just how deeply broken his land was. The surface was doomed for sure. There was just nothing left to salvage. Slowly he went through the underground tunnels and caves. Hoping to find something. Anything! All he got were half-molten caves, tunnels that were blocked by recently cooled lava, and evaporated underground lagoons. That didn’t change no matter how deep he went. All around him was just black destruction. He pushed through though, until he heard a faint sound. At first he thought it was the wind, but no. It was something different. Something alive!

He rushed through the tunnels now. Not caring that they were scarred or collapsed. He tore through them with reckless abandon. Heading straight for the sound. When he found it, he dropped to his knees. A collapsed tunnel had spared a small, underground pool of water. Within the water he found small little tadpoles swimming around with various green algae to feed upon. While above the water flies buzzed, which got eaten in turn by small, scaly lizards. It felt like a miracle but not one he performed. Did another god visit his island? He didn’t know, and quite frankly he didn’t care. He dipped his hands into the water and the curious creatures immediately swarmed his hand. Probably more to see if he was food. A powerful love overtook him. A love he hadn’t felt for any of his creations before. Sure, he cherished Xal-Zastarha but this love for those living creatures. Who had survived such an onslaught. That was something deeper. Was this how gods felt when they created their own children? Did they love them as much as he loved the little lizards and tadpoles? Perhaps. He would have to ask.

But his mind pulled him back towards the shattered world above. This place was not suited for life. Inevitability the tadpoles and lizards would die as well. Leaving nothing. No, he had to save them. He had to prepare the world for them! So he rushed upwards again. When standing on the cliff of his floating island, he could see the mountains of Black Rock and the forests underneath. It would do. He lifted both his arms and in the distance, a few mountains began to crack. Qael’Naath continued to pour his strength into the act. More cracks formed across the great mountains, which flowed down into the woods around them. Blocks of dirt and trees began to float upwards, towards the island. Then pieces of the mountain shattered and joined in. Slowly the ground pushed itself against the island. While stone encased it. Xal-Zastarha grew gradually. All the while a mountain shattered and gave up all its stone. But it wasn’t just Xal-Zastarha that was healed and seeded with new earth. Around it, above it and under it islands formed. None as big as the main island. In total, Xal-Zastarha more than tripled in size. With the next largest island around its formation as big as Xal-Zastarha once was. When Qael finally lowered his arms again, he was pleased with the result. Yes, this would do nicely for the start of the new life. His life.

He wasn’t done though. Once more he poured his divine power into the earth and ash and rock. It chained towards the other islands as well. Upon Xal-Zastarha itself he recreated the jungles and hot lakes. Unlike his previous creation though, the island was now wild and generally unchecked. He could not afford to design every bit and piece of it again. Though he made sure that for his soon to be created children it would be a lush paradise. The other islands got their dedicated functions as well. The isle of Xal-Nuathl became home to a massive lake stretching almost from edge to edge. With a few atoll like islands scattered around in it. He took some creations from the Surface-Reef below and delicately planted them on his own shores. While underwater all sorts of green and life was seeded as well. The Isle of Xal-Yaoxaual became a place of more temperate plains. With a few trees scattered about. None the less it was a fertile and expansive place. With gentle, soothing, rolling hills. The purpose of Xal-Necahual was simple. It was pure stone and rock. An island without a flat surface. Instead, it was filled with mountains and deep crevices. Filled to the brim with natural minerals. Much smaller, lesser islands, were created as well. Some with a function. Some simply to offer space or a new perspective upon the now orbiting island formation. When he was done though, Xal-Zastarha was greater than ever.

When, he found himself done he rushed back down into the dark, damp cave where he had found the tadpoles. He took a deep breath as he pushed both his hands into the water. It instantly shone bright yellow. Like the sun had been poured into it. It illuminated the entire cave. Underwater, divine energy began to alter the tadpoles. Accelerating their metamorphosis. Soon the first began to pop up above water but Qael wasn’t done. He pushed things further, altering the newly formed creatures their biology and size. They grew until they were bigger than a man. Slowly large, bulbous toad-like creatures crawled out of the golden pool and surrounded their god as he made more them. When he was done, he turned around to look at his creations. They weren’t pretty in the slightest, but their minds were magnificent. Their thoughts were orderly, unemotional and logical. If they didn’t know something, they would experiment. Yes, they were almost perfect. Almost, because Qael decided that they had to be more. First, he bound their existence to the mana that was everywhere on the island. Then he imbued their orderly minds with a talent for spell crafting and sorcery.

He was not done, however. He lifted his hands from the pool and let the divine light shine into the cave. Every lizard touched began to grow at a rapid pace. Some could not hold on to the ceiling of the cave. Man-sized lizards fell into the water. Only to emerge out of it, fully formed. With sharp predatory senses, strong, corded muscles and an indomitable will. Like all previous creations, he bound their existence to the mana and made them talented sorcerers.

Then he slowly guided them up towards the surface of Xal-Zastarha. Into the newly formed thick jungle, he had made. The place was full of small insects. Snacks for the newly created Eloxochitli. It was also a requirement for their existence. Because in a bid to lower the time they had to spent to eat, Qael’Naath had made them cold-blooded. This too then, allowed them to enter deep states of hibernation. Before he let them loose upon the land, he would talk to them first. He had to. So he sat down amid them and urged them to do the same. The smart, toad-like creatures named Eloxochitli were woefully outnumbered by the stronger Itztli who surrounded them. Qael’Naath told them everything he knew without reservations. He told them about the siblings he knew. He told them about the world, the places he knew of, the creatures he had seen. Glassy eyes watched him. No doubt numerous things would be forgotten, but he felt it. His creations contained his greatest virtue: they were curious beyond measure. Many tried to soak up every word he said. The Eloxochitli were vastly more successful than the Itztli. When his story ended, it was finally time for their purpose.

To the Eloxochitli he explained that their minds are akin to his own. Structured, reasoned, orderly. This was no accident, for they would devise the ‘Divine spells’. Spells that could only be created by biologically greatly enhanced minds who also received the blessing of the god of magic. These spells would be the spells he would create if he had the time. Aside from that, they would also be the leaders of the Itztli.

To the Itztli he explained that they were strong and while still mentally gifted compared to their ancestors, their purpose laid elsewhere. For most of them, their purpose would be on Xal-Zastarha and the islands around it. To protect it against possible invaders, and build it up into what mortals thought a palace of a god should look like. The design itself, he said, would be for the Eloxochitli. He instilled a deep respect for each other into a biological level into the creations.

When his stories and tasks ended, the creatures went on their own ways. To discover the island and the magic they were gifted with. Qael’Naath, meanwhile, heard the call of newly created sapience still. There were others still ungifted. His wound had healed a little bit more now though. What use would he be if he could barely travel the world? So instead of answering the call, he decided to stay upon his island formation. Tending it and adding the required details. Xal-Zastarha veered off north-east then. Heading for the prairie.

Summary

Qael observes his island and finds almost everything destroyed. Even underground the divine battle destroyed the majority of the cave systems. However, he finds one underground spot that was spared. It has a tiny pool with tadpoles, some lizards and some flies. He rejoices and experiences a deep love for the creatures that survived. So he decides to make Xal-Zastarha into a full-fledged place to live in for the creatures. Along with several other floating islands around it that they might use. He then uplifts the lizards and tadpoles into the Itztli and Eloxochitli respectively.

The Eloxochitli are blessed with the ability to manipulate mana and talents for sorcery and spellcasting. The Itztli are blessed with the ability to manipulate mana and have a natural talent towards sorcery. Qael realizes there are still many races that must receive his blessing, but instead opts to stay at Xal-Zastarha for a while to refine its details. The flying island group now travels north-east towards the prairie.

MP & DP

Start: 5MP / 5DP
-0 MP >> Significantly changing the landscape
-0 MP >> Creating a large ecosystem
-2 MP >> Create sapient race: Eloxochitli
-2 MP >> Create sapient race: Itztli
-0 MP >> Discounted from 1 MP, Bless both races each with the ability to manipulation of mana
-1 DP >> Bless Eloxochitli with a talent for Sorcery
-1 DP >> Bless Eloxochitli with a talent for Spellcasting
-1 DP >> Bless Itztli with a talent for Sorcery
End: 1MP / 2DP

Portfolio progress
Spellcasting: 1/5

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Qael'Naath

&

Adrian

---

His job was not yet done. More sapience had to be blessed. Even if his wound continued to ache. His mind floated back to Xal-Zastarha. The grass and plants had probably burned out now. Leaving nothing but a wasteland and clear evidence of a divine fight. He looked up to see the falling sun and calculated the amount of days had passed. Yes, it should be near the new mountains to the west of the new continent, and the light-touched plains. Perhaps his siblings would find the island. It was particularly safe yet. The Crown would remain unstable for at least a few more days. Spitting black smoke into the air. Nonetheless, he could not yet return. He had a duty. He had to fulfill it! And then he had to teach the mortals. And find his sister and kill her! So much to do. So little time. As Qael was focused on other things, he let his mana guide him to the next sapient creatures. A part of him wondered what his brothers and sisters had made this time. He wondered if it fulfilled them. To have creations that could speak your name. The fact that he was now flying into a deep, dark cave did nothing to distract him. Not until a strange gecko creature leapt at him. With an instant telekinetic wave Qael’Naath managed to capture it. “You’re a strange thing.” He remarked as he let it wriggle and move in place. “But I’m not here for you.” He closed his fist. The creature wiggled fiercely, then fell limp and fell down to the ground. Though apparently in his absent minded state Qael had moved much too close to the sapience he set forth to find him. So close, in fact, that he could now see their seemingly silvery glowing eyes.

“By fate’s design perhaps.” He mumbled to himself as he floated forward into the larger cave that held the Night Elves. They looked far too familiar. Bipedal with leathery skin. Hair on their heads and one pair of eyes and ears. He sighed. It was getting a bit dull. Though he wondered whether or not he should aid their magical understanding like he did with the Reshut. Though they would never be thanked for it. Mortal life could be so thankless sometimes. It did not matter. He did not need their worship or thanks. He needed their curiosity and creativity. He needed them as mortal, temporary things that would not go so gently into the night. These creatures then, could be chosen. Beings to be taught a little bit more by the God of Magic himself. A unique gift to be sure.

“Greetings mortals.” He announced. In sight of all, he pulled down a strain of mana from the stream flowing above the crevice. It was invisible to the Night Elves. “I am Qael’Naath. God of Magic. As we speak, I am binding your very existence to mana. In short time your very demands upon this world can be met in a most fascinating fashion. Allowing you to perform the most wonderous acts!” With arms high up he waited for them to rejoice. They didn’t. Instead some of them crept further away from him. Mothers were clutching their children. Though not fast, as if a sudden movement would trigger him to pounce upon them. The childless ones had picked up sticks and stones and slowly moved themselves between Qael and the other Night Elves. They weren’t happy. They were afraid. But much worse: they weren’t asking questions. They weren’t curious. “Very well. I suppose a lesson is in order then.”

"I don't think they can handle another lesson so soon," Came a tiny voice, and as Qael looked down, by his feet stood a thumbling wearing a hat.

The tiny thing confused the God of Magic. To observe the tiny creature from up close, he telekinetically lifted it up until it was levitating in front of his hood. “You’re an odd creature far from home. I would swear I visited your kind some time ago.” He said.

"Maybe, I wouldn't know," Adrian crossed his arms, "I'm Adrian."

Qael looked beyond the tiny creature for a moment to see the Night Elves. They were even more on edge than before. Far more. “Your friends seem…agitated.” He said. “Very agitated.” His eye caught that of a mother and child beyond the group. It was a good trick. Few things were as strong as a mother’s love. But then something else caught his eye. A small well. To a mortal’s eye it would look almost insignificant but Qael’Naath saw the influence of divinity upon it. He lowered Adrian again as he took a step towards the well, pointed at it and asked. “Who made that?”

"Who is to say?" Adrian leaned against the stones, "It's always been."

Qael was somewhat surprised. Most mortals, including the Night Elves before him, had a tendency to fear him. It wasn’t entirely unjustified. He has killed and tried to kill several mortal beings. What was a singular life to god? Yet this little thing didn’t fear. At all. Qael sat down in front of him. “Who are you, Adrian? What is your story?” He asked. There was genuine curiosity in his voice.

Adrian looked surprised for a moment before melting into his usual confidence. “I’m Adrian, from the Garden of the Golden Light, also known as the Sacred Grove. My father’s name is Cole and my mother’s name is Sarah. I have eleven siblings, but I’m the second oldest. My current charge is protecting the night elves you see before you.” He turned away from the god to look at the masses who were now slowly getting back to their day -- save for the prophet who remained sleeping.

The God of Magic was giving Adrian his full attention. He pondered over every single word the tiny thing said: Golden Light. Sacred Grove. Father. Siblings. Charge. Night Elves. It was interesting. For a moment the god of magic remained silent as he weighed every word in his head. Yet there was still the well and Adrian’s reluctance to name whatever divine creature had made it and probably the Night Elves as well. “Very well, Adrian Son of Cole and Sarah, you have piqued my interest. I swear I will not inflict a lesson upon these wards of yours. But only in exchange of you telling me who made them.” Then he pointed at the well at the far end of the cave. “And that.”

“I’m sure you very much would like to keep that deal and so would I,” Adrian shook his head solemnly, “But alas neither of us can. You are free to use my well, but I’m afraid there is no name to be had just as there is no lesson.” He waved a hand and sighed, “If you impose a lesson on these fragile folk, I’m afraid every single one of them would die horribly and the lesson with them.”

“You are a brave creature.” Qael’Naath said. “Braver than most. Then as their charge I will offer you a lesson. Two in fact. Worry not though. They will be peaceful.” He assured the tiny thing. It would slow down things significantly but they would still have the words of a God to guide them. That was more than most others could hope for. “I have blessed your wards with the ability to influence the world around them. This power is still weak in most races. Few, if any, even know they have it. For now I will impart to you that the key to this power is will. It is an arrogant thing to demand the world to change for you. Yet with this power it is possible. And my second lesson is that this power is also given to you and your kin.” The god of magic rose from his seated position as if lifted up by some invisible force. “I hope you and yours are curious enough to try it out.” He offered a small smile, before he clutched his chest. His wound was aching again. So much even that for a moment he dropped down to a knee. He took a deep breath as the pain receded as quickly as it had come.

Slowly he made his way towards the Moonwell. The chalky white water was certainly strange. He lifted some of the water out of it with his powers, said: “Lifeblood, may this work. I don’t think I can go on much longer.” And then consumed the water. For a moment he felt lightheaded. A tingle filled his entire body. But it quickly vanished. Like the Lake of Radiance, it did nothing to sooth his wounds. Physical or otherwise. It just wasn’t strong enough. He released an exhausted sigh. Failure again. The last time, perhaps. For he could not keep on going. He had to return. “Farewell, Adrian.” He said, louder so the tiny thing could hear him. Then he flew up into the hole above. Missing the connection the full moon had with the well below.

“And goodnight,” Adrian replied quietly, but loud enough for Qael to hear.

Summary

Qael finds the Night Elves but continues to suffer from his chest wound. He gave the Elves a public announcement that they could now perform magic. The elves don’t trust him and for a moment Qael considers using an old trick again. He is stopped by Adrian. The thumbling interests Qael so he promises not to do anything to the Night Elves if he tells him who made them and the Moonwell. Adrian doesn’t want to say. Qael respects the wish and decides against teaching the Elves a harder lesson. Instead, he simply explains how sorcery works to Adrian, who he hopes will tell the Night Elves in turn. Qael then drinks from the Moonwell, seeing it as a place of healing. Sadly, to no avail. Qael leaves again, bidding Adrian farewell.

Might & Prestige

Qael’Naath:
Start: 5MP / 5DP
End: 5MP / 5DP

Moonwell:
8.3K characters >> +4 Prestige

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Qael'Naath

---

Xal-Zastarha laid in ruins. Fire was still claiming the plant life on the edges of it. Plumes of smoke marked its path. Stone and rock stuck out jaggedly. Everywhere you looked you could see the craters and destruction the fight between the Gods of Magic had wrought. Qael did despair. He would have to redesign and rebuild everything. It would take so much more time to refine it all. Time he didn’t have. Yet one thing was preventing him from starting the reseeding of the plants and sculpting of the stone and dirt. He still clutched the wound in his chest. It was the worst one. No scratch or burn he got from Qullqiya could measure up to a self-inflicted wound. Before he could continue his work he would have to heal himself. And it would appear that the mana had somehow found a place well suited for it. “Take me there.” He whispered to it. In a moment he flew up and joined the stream of mana as he traveled across the world. It took some time, but eventually, he dropped out of the stream. Like a blue-glowing falling star, he landed before the edge of the Luminant. At night, the wonderful colors shone bright. Though they dulled the shine of the stars a bit. “What a wonderful creation.” Qael’Naath said mostly to himself. He touched one the bioluminescent trees but it didn’t react. It just kept on shining. The whole place was made of countless colors. He slowly wandered on. Creatures of what looked like pure light flew up from their nests. It looked like paradise. Yet Qael’Naath felt like it was not yet perfect. The ground and the trees were shining with bright light yet the sky seemed empty in comparison.

He outstretched his hand and began to bend the nearest stream to swirl and concentrate overhead. The concentration created the Aurora Luminant. Unlike the other mana aurora’s, this one was not extremely fleeting. Instead at night, it would be a near-constant shimmer of all colors possible in the skies. To reflect the beauty of the land and plants itself. Content with his slight change in the environment, he continued on. Pulled by the mana towards the place’s center. Where he found a beautiful, aquamarine lake. It radiated with a soothing feel. Qael wondered what god had created such a wonderful thing. Slowly he waded into the lake and closed his eyes. Something divine did touch him. He could feel a slight tingle in his chest. He waited, and waited. The tingle never grew, nor diminished. But when he opened his eyes and touched his chest, the would still felt sore and unhealed. Even though the physical presence of the wound was now nothing more than a scar. It would seem that his wounds were deeper. With a disappointed sigh he began to float back towards the edges of the lake. It could not heal him. It wasn’t strong enough. Yet as he came out of the Lake of Radiance, he was suddenly overtaken by a stream of words and whispers. The mana had begun to shift and change ever so slightly.

At first he rejoiced. Sapience was here! His brothers and sisters had created things that could practice magic in a lucid way! Then more whispers join. In different voices, made with different mouths. Qael’Naath was momentarily overtaken before he got a hold of himself. So much sapience. It wasn’t just one or two races. The numbers were far greater and suddenly Qael’Naath was touched by dread. For the first time he felt as if there was not enough time. Just not enough to balance it between rebuilding Xal-Zastarha, destroy his sister and teach mortals magic. None the less, he had to do it. Once more he flew up into the stream. Heading for his next destination.

He first came upon the trolls in marshy land and was utterly disgusted by them. Not physically. While Qael could appreciate beauty, it was not the only thing he valued. Instead, he despised their wit or lack of it. They were impulsive and unrefined. “What god could possibly have made such vile specimens?” It was an insult to sapience. To wisdom! No, Qael’Naath would not gift them his creation. Why would he? At best it would go squandered on foolish little tricks, at worst it would go unused because they are just too dumb to use it. They even lacked the sheer willpower for Sorcery. Then one smaller troll caught the eye of the god. They were truly tiny, but horned. Its mind was a blazing fire compared to the candlelight flames of the others. “You will do.” With a flick of his wrist, he began to alter both the Askeladds and the mana. The trolls wouldn’t feel anything. Not yet. But once some form of cheer willpower and desire to make something took over, the mana would listen and obey. Only a handful of Askeladds would probably be able to control magic for a long time. But it would be something and perhaps it would be interesting.

Amongst the marshy plains he also found other minds. Minds blazing brighter than that of trolls. Yet physically these creatures were barely seen. Qael, in fact, had to come in much closer. Resting on top of a tree to observe them. Perhaps that was too close. What Qael saw was discouraging. These little creatures were clever, but down and depressed. As if they just lost an important part of themselves. Depressed things rarely produced promising results. None the less they were clever. If they could bounce back, perhaps they would be amongst the first to explore his gifts. Quite subtly he gave them their attunement to mana. Given time and a suitable moment, some of them would harness magic.

Further west he found cold forests and streams, and sapience that came with it. They were more clever than the trolls but also a bit weaker. Still, given enough time and chance they would no doubt overgrow the trolls. There was a lot of potential here. Once more Qael bound the humans and mana together. Fierce will would uncover that power in some. All humans were blessed with that potential now yet once again, in this day and age only a handful would begin their magical journey.

The underwater Vrool were a surprise for Qael in every sense of the word. They were beyond intriguing. Clever and curious beyond belief, but cold blooded and defendant on the heat in their environment. Their sensory organs were intriguing as well. They were highly developed. No doubt for predatory advantage, but it would be extremely useful to learn about their surroundings. A skill that could only improve their magical capabilities. Most interestingly perhaps was their decentralized intelligence. The fact that tentacles could act semi-independently. From the dark in the deep he observed them, keeping a very respectful distance. Qael did not need to debate himself on this: the Vrool were beyond suited for his gift with mana. Like all the others, he took some of the mana from the nearby flow and bound it to the Vrool. If they proved to be as clever and curious as they appeared to be, then no doubt they would be amongst the first to use self-taught magic. He just hoped not too many would end up killing themselves with it.

To the east of the main continent, Qael found the fifth sapient species. Strange humanoid creatures with robes and masks to hide their visages. He did not care what they looked like. Their minds seemed somewhat akin to that of humans. There seemed to be no reason not to give them the blessing he has so freely given. So once more he bound them with the mana. However, his plan requires one sapient race to get a bit of an early start. Like a little kick to get the wheel turning. So instead of observing from a safe distance, he descended upon the Kylsar Isles. It was night, and with it had come darkness. Enveloping the strange marshy forests. The Reshut had found shelter. For the most part. Except for two. A mother and her child. They were hurrying along the dryer paths. From the shadows he stalked them. Until the mother caught a glimpse of him. “Run.” She whispered to her son, but the god had heard it.

With a mere thought, both of them were suddenly up in the air. Unable to move or even scream for help. He took them further away from their group. Until they came to a small clearing, with a big lake next to it. The water was brackish and filled with reeds. The stars shone brightly in the night sky and Gibbou’s moon was full. Without much regard for life, Qael flicked his wrist. The child, no more than 8, flew forward. Into the lake. It wasn’t far from the shores. In fact even the mother could still clearly see him. Qael’Naath allowed her to scream as her child’s splashing began to weaken. She pleaded and begged what she perceived as a mysterious, hooded stranger with impossible powers. Qael did nothing. He just waited until the young boy began to give up and sank down. He let the mother free from his grip, but instantly covered part of the lake’s surface with ice. The mother, frantic, just ran straight over it. She never fell. Not until she was where her son was. The ice was clear and she could see her child slowly sinking. She screamed and smashed her fists into the ice. Trying to break it. To no avail. “Will it broken.” A strange voice said. She looked up and saw the stranger stand beside her. She didn’t know what to do. She just kept on hitting the ice. Hoping it would work. With all her might she hit it until her fists were bleeding. “No. No, don’t hit it. Don’t try to break it. Demand that it breaks.” She listened, but only half. Her entire mind was set to breaking the ice. “Don’t want it. Demand it!” He repeated. Her mind was muddled and angry and scared. “Demand it!” He repeated. “Demand it for your child!” With a scream only a mother could emanate she punched the ice again. Not to break it, but to demand it be broken. To her surprise, it did just that. The ice shattered and she fell into the water. Moments later she was up again, holding her son who moments later took deep breaths of air. When she made sure her child was okay, hugged him with everything she had and looked around to make sure the man was gone, and only then, did she look at her fist and then at the ice. It was as thick as half her index finger. How did she break that? Not with her still bleeding fists no. No, she demanded it, and it broke.

Summary

Qael is unhappy because his island is destroyed. He can’t start rebuilding until his wound fully healed. To do so he travels to the Lake of Radiance. But it’s not powerful enough to heal a god’s self-inflicted wounds. As he gets out of the lake he is overcome by the whispers of the first sapient creatures. He rejoices for they exist! Then despairs because there is no time. First, he encounters the trolls and is disgusted by how stupid they are, so he only blessed the Askeladds. Then he blessed the Thumblings and hope they can get out of their race-wide depression. Then he gives it to the humans. Then he gladly blesses the Vrool. Finally, he blesses the Reshut. To speed things up, he forces a mother to save her child through the first act of the Qael’s Sorcery. Making her the first Sorceress.

MP & DP & Prestige

Starting amount: 5MP / 5DP
0 MP: (Originally 1 MP per, but discounted due to the Mana Portfolio) per races who received the special ability: “Mana affinity.” A basic requirement to control mana and thus Qael’s magic. Mana can be controlled now by active thoughts and willpower. Making whatever you want to happen, happen. If you will it enough of course. It is given to:
- Trolls (Only the Askeladds)
- Thumblings
- Early Humans
- Vrool
- Reshut
End amount: 5MP / 5DP

Lake of radiance: +5 Prestige

Avalia

Xenelith

Time: 4 p.m.
Location: Roshimi City

---

Killing your own kin was a despicable act to Xenelith. To have the blood of your own people on your hands constituted a terrible sin in his eyes. Something utterly unforgivable. Yet the day after he warned the City-Guard captains, that very afternoon, he had stood on a platform amid a large plaza. The crowd had gathered and he had given his little speech about security and betrayal. One of his Guard-Captains had failed to straighten himself and his people out. It was then thus that he had to prove his words to be true and prove he did. With a grand blade and one fell swoop, the Dark Elf’s head rolled off his shoulders. After that, he retreated into what he had turned into his sanctum. To meditate. Yes, he had done something that could not be forgiven. He did not want forgiveness. He was already doomed three years ago. He settled for peace of mind. Knowing that what he did was necessary. That the sins he committed would be his and his alone to bear. That truth kept him going now. Even in his darkest times when his companion whimpered out from the crystal hanging around his neck. Not once did he think of removing it. These were his hardships to bear.

But then the day of the ball had come and the city still stood. A testament to his own ability to instill order in the chaos. Would it last? Probably not. The ball would be suspiciously devoid of Dark Elves as well. Xenelith had sent the richest and most influential ones away. Under the guise of vacation or business elsewhere. Meanwhile more and more reinforcements had arrived. The Commander had turned the city-guard inside out. Posting them on exit points like sewers or gates. Checking everyone who was leaving yet not caring who entered. When the city would burn, the rats would flee right into his trap.

---

“Close them.” Xenelith commanded. He stood not in his sanctum but within a shop. Several Dark Elves of his own cohort were stationed outside with hands on their weapons. They would not abide rioters. The shop itself was that of a tailor. One of the greatest tailors in Roshmi. The place was filled with the finest silk and dyed wool. The tailor himself was working tirelessly on refining Xenelith’s ball clothes. It was an intricate black tunic. Yet not so intricate that it would stand out from the rest. Most certainly some peacocky demi-human would easily outdo himself. Let him, thought Xenelith. What was vanity in the face of complete destruction?

Before him stood a rather more refined black cat demi-human. “Excuse me?” She said. “I’m sorry I think you just said… close the Transport Centers?”

“I am not in the habit of repeating my orders,” Xenelith said. Eyeing down the demi-human. In the last 48 hours, everyone had become a lot more obedient. Though apparently not absolute obedient. “You have your task, now go. Make sure that by midnight tonight, there are no more vehicles to hop on at the centers. Or tomorrow I will have your fur as a rug.”

The demi-human swallowed deeply and removed herself from the shop. The tailor, an older demi-human gentleman, did not seem to care. Not until Xenelith moved. “stop fussing.” He said as he straightened the Dark Elf out again. Xenelith didn’t move anymore. Twenty minutes later he came out of the shop. There was one more vitally important difference on him: his hair was dyed entirely ashen white.