Legion02

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Itztli of the Great Lake in Kubrajzar

The cities had fought. Prisoners were taken and their blood was fed to Ohae. So the circle started anew. Warriors hung up their weapons and took up the plows. While priests of the Mother Pool began to bless the artificial islands doting the coastline near Aklux. Even the magical teachings of Omathaequai were suspended for now was a time of hard work and regrowth.

Istril had felt uncomfortable for the last few months of the cycle. He knew his brother and sisters somehow reveled within the wanton warring. As a youngling, he too wanted to pick up a sword and charge headfirst into the enemy. These days the sight of blood upset his stomach. He knew Ohae, goddess of light and war, required it to defeat the World-Eater. Yet it still didn’t feel right to him. He wanted to no part in that. Nor did he participate in the great revelries that followed. The stain of blood was too fresh upon the Great Pyramid.

Yet two weeks later, the first petitions came from the various priesthoods. For Istril was blessed by the gods to heal the land. When he came out of his adobe before dawn, various offerings of fruit and meat laid before his door in bowls. He smiled. Even without the offerings, he would have gladly helped everyone. He took the bowls inside the shade and cooked the meat as breakfast while Ohae rose up once more. When he came out once more, the various priesthoods’ representatives stood before his remote adobe.

“Pthin Istril. The fields need your blessings. Aklux has grown during the year once more and the harvest may not falter. Lest hundreds suffer famine.” One said. He was an acolyte of the Mother Pool. Then he bowed and stepped aside so the next petitioner could be heard. “Pthin Istril. The spirits are still quickened from the Day of the Sun. We ask you to calm them.” Then the next came. “Pthin Istril. I-I come with a request from the gibbon-god.” The acolyte was practically shaking. Suddenly Istril noticed the glares of the other petitioners threw him. He was not even 40, how could he be an acolyte of the moon? “Come inside. We can talk in private. For the rest of you: I shall bless the fields after Ohea reached her peak. The spirits will calm down.” The acolytes bowed and left. Except for the one frightened one.

He entered the shadowy adobe and was quickly followed by Istril. Who had to tell him to take a seat even. “So what is it you need, master-?” He asked with a genuine smile.

“My name is Khaten but I’m not a priest. I-I’m sorry Pthin. I have come under false pretenses.” He confessed. Istril could almost imagine his heart beating. “The gibbon-god does not require your attention today. The bodies are being buried well. I have come because…” The Itztl was almost shivering now. Tears were pooling in his eyes. “Because I’m a failure!” he finally blurted out, before he threw his face into his hands and cried. “Omathaequai surely cursed me! I cannot even weave a hex!” He managed to say in between sobs. “This year I am supposed to march with the Qadesh to fight alongside them and capture my own sacrifices but I’m useless!”

Istril slowly padded him on the back but waited. He knew well how painful that felt. Because 60 years ago he felt the same pain. He too thought he was cursed by Omathaequai. He had cried and ran away. He swam into the Mother Pool and begged her to drown him. Nothing happened. Then prayed for a sign. For something to help him. He had been good and pious. Every day he prayed to Ohae and the Mother Pool. Every dusk he prayed to the gibbon-god and the Star Serpent. He danced with great joy and abandon around Meghzaal’s temples and even learned how to write to appease Omathaequai, which was not a cheap thing to do for a commoner he was at the time.

“You know how I became who I am now?” He asked, as the acolyte calmed down and whipped away his tears. He shook his head. “I was once like you. I couldn’t Weave with the Gift. I had prayed and cried. Begging the gods to hear me. Then one day…I think they did.” Istril said with a small, melancholic smile. The day he found that horn in a shallow pool was perhaps the happiest day in his life. He had cherished that horn, but only a few days later it was gone. It had just vanished. “I found a horn in a small, reflective pool. It wasn’t there before. It just…appeared.”

“Why do you think you were chosen?” The acolyte asked.

Priests of Ohae had demanded he would lie about such a question. Gods chose the strong and the mighty. The rainbow eyes were living, breathing proof of that. Which each one being born, new ways of Weaving were created. Yet this wasn’t the truth for him. It could never be. “I just… did my best to do good. To work hard. I fed the animals, even the wild ones I encountered in the jungle. I sang and danced as Meghzaal asks of us all.” Truly, he wasn’t special. Not more special than some others. He never took captives in his life. He never drew blood or stole from another city. “Just live a good life. That in itself will be enough. You don’t need to become like me. I know that’s what you want to ask me but I can’t give you the answers. Just know that the gods are more generous than they appear.”

A sniffling acolyte nodded. “I will try. Thank you Pthin. I won’t forget your kindness.”

Istril just offered him a kind smile. They both exited it and went to their duties. The acolyte would return to the burial pits. While Istril headed for the fields. There was lots of work to do but first, with foodbowl under his arm, he would spread the gifts of food the petitioners had brought him amongst the poor. He didn’t need all that food anyway.

~

The market was bursting at its seams today. Artisans from other cities had come in to sell the last bits of their wares before the seeding of the fields began. Sadly, there were also many beggars lined against the wall. Begging for scraps of food to survive. Most of the artisans and shoppers passed them as if they did not exist. They preferred to barter and trade their own creations for those of others. Pots were exchanged for copper knives without a care given to the maimed. Istril knew it was wrong, yet also a part long ingrained within Aklux’s way of life. To be poor, hungry or maimed is a punishment of the gods. Still, he crouched next to each one of them and offered them a piece of fruit. “Go with the gods.” He said every time he handed over his own food. His bowl was nearly empty when he heard that familiar sound of commotion behind him.

People were gasping, then moving aside. The drone of heavy march reverberated through the ground. He didn’t even need to turn around to see who was approaching him. Yet he did, ready to face the oncoming storm. “We meet again, master Sekhem.” Istril said with a genuine smile.

The iztl escorted by four of the Qadesh, those of the nobility who dedicated their lives to Ohae’s aspect of war and dressed in highly polished, sun reflecting brass. He was dressed in white robes with a purple trim and wore jewelry of various gemstones. Yet his eyes were his true symbol of status: they were rainbow colored. “How many times must you lower yourself to this useless scum?” He asked with no small amount of disdain for the beggars he did not even want to look upon. “You are god-blessed. A Pthin for the love Omathaequai! Would you start acting like it? You are supposed to be blessing the fields and calming the spirits. Not bother with these leeches of the world. Start doing your duty to this city!”

“I am doing my duty.” Istril calmly retorted. “These people deserve food too. The fields will be blessed and the spirits calmed.” Something deep down in Istril wanted to challenge Sekhem. He had the king’s ear. How could he let his own people live I poverty? But no, despite their almost constant confrontations, Istril did understand Sekhem’s position. Unlike himself, Sekhem sat at court. He had many responsibilities. Which meant that he could be blamed for many failings as well. As sad as his disdain for the poor was, even he was just doing a job. Even he was just a another wheel that made the cart move. “But if you insist then I will go to the fields now.” He gave Sekhem a small yet polite bow and left once more with an empty bowl under his hands.

Sekhem knew it wasn’t the end of it. His brothers and sisters in the other great cities had been talking about the Pthins more and more. They were rare, very rare and a great boon to any city. Yet almost always were they born from a weakness: their failure to Weave the Gift. Worse, some had challenged the wisdom of the gods. One even dared to say that Ohae was not bloodthirsty at all. Such fools, how could she not? How much more proof did they need. High Priest Khentii had demonstrated her need for mortal blood two weeks ago to fend off the World-Eater. Sekhem would pray tonight that Istril would not spout the same blasphemy. Heret’s laws had to be upheld and equal for all. Even a Pthin.

~

The fields outside of Aklux were a marvel in of themselves. Not one as big as the Great Pyramid of Ohae but still, it was a testament to the city’s greatness. Grand canals, flanked by large, rectangularly carved stones to keep the banks for collapsing, allowed small boats carrying seeds, mud, people and tools to go and come from the irrigated fields. In the distance a mason-master and field-lord were overseeing the construction of an expansion of the canals and it’s irrigation water ways. While Itztli dressed in nothing but loincloths were digging out the earth. Istril knew that from across the lake, in the city of Habsut, gold would be traded for stone and then slowly shipped over. It was always busy but so early in the Cycle it was even more so. More fields had to be created and the jungle had to be pushed back to free up the land.

A boat was waiting. Perhaps for the next load of seeds or mud. Instead Istril casually stepped aboard and sat down. A day-dreaming Iztl barely registered his presence. Though when he did he nearly jumped. “Pthin. An honor! An honor! Forgive me sir. I will be on my way immediately.” He said with a hasty voice. Istril didn’t mind the wait. The itztl man cast off from his mooring point and pushed himself away from the bank. Very few of Aklux’s ships had sails or rows. Most were one-man flat-bottomed boats, which were pushed along with a pole.

~

After nearly a full day of praying, Istril always felt exhausted. As Ohae sank beneath the horizon and relinquished dominion to the moon, he finally reached back his very humble adobe. Yet inside he was surprised by the little acolyte he had met that morning. “Khaten. A surprise.” He said “Why are you in my home?” He wasn’t mad. Just curious. Still, Khaten had technically broken in.

He swallowed deeply as he turned. Showing Istril the horn in his hand.

Istril’s eyes widened as he dashed towards it and took it from Khaten’s hands. “How…” he stammered as he observed the horn. It was exactly like he remembered it. But there was only one test. He put his lips on it and slowly drank from it. The water tasted strange. Almost foul with an earthen side-taste. A smile formed on his face. “It’s back.” Then he turned to Khaten. “Did you drink from this?”

Khaten shook his head. “No, Phtin. I-I don’t think I should.”

Istril motioned him to sit down. “How did you find it?” He asked.

“I was in a deep, dark cave. Praying. Begging the gibbon-god to give me a second chance. I know it’s wrong to ask him such things but I still did it. Then, in a pool, I found it. I couldn’t drink from it, Phtin. Not unless you told me to.”

“But you want to drink from it?” Istril asked. Khaten nodded but Istril understood the conundrum. It had taken many years for him to understand what was required of him by the gods as an Phtin. The prayers, the actions, the different mindset. He had to steel his resolve against the other priests. It required training. He said nothing, but instead got up and walked out of his adobe towards the nearest well he had dug.

Khaten followed him and arrived just in time to see Istril toss the horn into the well. “Why did you do that!?” He exclaimed.

“Because it will reappear when the time is right and that is not now. You will need thousand hours of prayer and the nerve to stand up against the other priests. Being an Phtin isn’t easy and it will be lonely. You will need to work hard and long, every day. Are you ready for that?” Istril said. Khaten didn’t even stop to think about it, he just nodded. “Good, then tell your priest that you are no longer an acolyte of the gibbon-god. Right now you are my apprentice.”

Summary

Pthin (honorary title for those blessed by the gods (IE: a druid)) Istril wakes up and finds offerings for his services. Then petitioners appear to ask him to bless the fields and calm the spirits. One petitioner is an acolyte of the gibbon-god. Istril talks to him private and the acolyte, Khaten, admits that he came under false pretenses and instead needs council. Istril tells him about how he lived and how Khaten could live. They part ways and Istril heads for the market first to give his offerings to the poor and the cripples.

This rather endangers the local servant, Sekhem. Who holds a position at court and demands Istril fulfills his duties to the city of Aklux and blesses the fields. Instead of offering food to the useless. Istril feels a need to challenge him but refrains from doing so. As he understands Sekhrem is under a lot of pressure as well.

When he comes back from blessing the fields, he finds Khaten in his humble adobe with the Hir. He asks if the acolyte drank from it but he says no. He wouldn’t drink from it unless Istril told him to do so. Istril, instead, tosses it into a nearby well and tells Khaten that he is not ready but that he will teach him.

Prestige

Post length: 12.3K characters
Servants >> +5 Prestige
Hir >> +5 Prestige

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Itztli of the Great Lake in Kubrajzar

High Priest Khentii was having strange dreams. Dreams of the moon eating the sun. Of the vibrant colors fleeing and all become grey and bleak. For a moment he was happy when a servant woke him up. Yet then he remembered what day it was. He rushed out of his hovel. It was a simple bricked hovel with nothing fancy about it other than the few statues carved into the walls. Even that made it stand out from the otherwise smaller hovels his people lived in. He looked east, along the sacred road heading for the temple plaza. The Great Pyramid of Ohae was faintly glowing with the sun barely behind it. Then, the first drum beats echoed throughout Aklux. The call had begun. Those of the builder and warrior castes came out of their hovels and saw Khentii.

“Bring the slaves!” He yelled at a few warriors. For today was a day Ohae in the sky would need help. “Bring wood as well!” He shouted at the builders. Before he rushed towards the Great Pyramid. He begged the Star Serpent that he was wrong. Yet the omens and machinations had to be heeded. More drums vibrated from the temple. Waking the spirits of the world. Great bonfires were lit at the food of the temple, coating it in a dark red and smokey glow. Like incense the smoke rose along the Great Pyramid. At every level more drummers joined the Call.

When Khentii was upon the Temple-Plaza, many of the builder castes had already gathered and began to dance along the great bonfire. Chanting and shouting in excitement. For the sun was about to do battle. Those of the Warrior Caste had already begun to drag their prisoners one by one up the stairs. Which had a channel cut in the middle of it. With every passing moment each level of the great Pyramid became more and more alive with drums, fires and chants enhanced through sorcerous magic. Khentii rushed up the stairs. Followed by several priests in gold-coated masks brandishing highly polished, bronze knives. Their cotton robes had gold dust on them as paint. Behind them the lesser dressed acolytes moved. Eying each of the sacrifices that were dragged up the stairs.

Khentii, at 150 years old, was not a young Itztli anymore. Every time he had to mount the stairs to the top, it took a toll on him. When he reached the flat top of the pyramid he dropped to his knees, out of breath. None of his fellow priests helped him. Instead they all moved around the four altars placed equally away from a central pool. The first four sacrifices were hauled onto the stone slabs and held down. The priests held their claw-shaped knives against their throat, which hung over a bowl. They waited for the signal. Khentii and his own acolytes looked up at the sun. Below the drums and songs and chants made more and more of the world-spirits awaken. Even the spirit of the Great Pyramid began to stir. Upon the smaller, more colorful temples standing around the Great Pyramid of Ohae the priesthood of Meghzaal, the Father-Spirit, were reciting their poems and sang their songs with their choirs. All to appease and quicken the spirits-in-all.

Then it happened. The sun was being eaten. The drums stopped. Dances were stopped in their tracks. Khentii felt a chill run along his back. Below Itztli began to cry out in horror. The light, the life, it was taken! Khentii gave his signal. Blood poured into the bowls. Which where then emptied into the central pool by servants. The bodies were thrown along a broad channel carved in the north side of the temple. The blood in the pool wasn’t enough. More bodies were dragged up on the temple. Priests on each level and upon the temple-plaza ushered their kin to continue the dancing. Bonfires were flared and fed with more wood as the dances and songs continued. Mixed with screams of fear and agony.

Nothing was enough. The sun kept being eaten. Priests begged and prayed to Ohae to defeat the World-Eater and send him once more to the gibbon god. Upon the plaza warriors were asking for a sign to kill their prisoners there and then. Khentii pushed on, demanding faster sacrifices. Letting half-drained corpses slide down the duct in favor of fresher blood. The central pool overflowed into the nearby channels, directing it down the stairs like a crimson trickle. Not enough still, the chill came and shadows became more prominent. Heat leeched from the air. Their world would be next.

Blood couldn’t flow fast enough. More and more corpses piled on at the foot of the temple. In the Eternal Shadow, gibbon-masked priests were dragging and sanctifying the dead so they may never rise again. Pyres burned dimly in the increasing dark as more and more corpses were burned to then be buried in the burial pits. Acolytes of the gibbon god of the moon were almost always convicts or prisoners taken from amongst the sacrificial offerings. Many despised their faith. They cursed the moon, the god of death, for their suffering. The masked priests were much more reverent and often showed thanks and gratitude to the moon god. As he was, after all, the god of new chances.

Meanwhile, atop the pyramid, Khentii began to silently despair as the world became dark. Finally he resorted to the last measure. He yelled his command down the southern slope of the pyramid. The Itztli warriors obeyed and pushed their prisoners against the ground. With their necks across the bloody channel that had so far but a trickle of blood. They slashed their throats, making a torrent from the trickle. Crimson falls poured down the southern slope. Violent splatters coated the entire side. When their prisoners were empty, the warriors put their blades upon their own necks and waited for the command.

Khentii held firm as he watched the white light with a black point in the middle of it. With soundless words he begged Ohae to vanquish her foe and not perish. The whole city of Aklux held its breath. Then, the world got just a little bit brighter. Khentii did not want to celebrate. Not yet. More prisoners were dragged up the eastern and western stairs. Yes, it was growing brighter. The light was growing lighter. Ohae was victorious! The goddess of sun and war had been fed enough blood! Cheers erupted along the pyramid and then amongst the commoners upon the plazas. People embraced each other and cooks ushered off to prepare the feast.

The High Priest stood motionless as the surviving sacrifices were led down the temple, the central pool was cleaned out with water and the last of the bodies were send down towards the gibbon-priests. The world was saved and now the great feast would begin.

Summary

Khentii wakes from a strange dream and realizes that the omens said that today would be an important day for the sun. As she would do battle against the World-Eater. He begins the ritual sacrifices upon the Great Pyramid of Ohae, the sun goddess as the eclipse begin. Lot sof blood is spilled but the eclipse ends. Khentii sees this as Ohae being victorious over the World-Eater.

No Might or DP was used, nor was any prestige gained.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Emissaries in Sancta Civitas

The Itztli managed to land their Magnus Pod steeds gently enough in a tall grass-field. From the skies they couldn’t believe what they saw, yet on the ground it became quite clear. Massive flowers, the size of trees, stood over them. Filling the whole plain with a gentle but pleasant smell. The tall grass grew upon very fertile ground. That wasn’t all. Grand bushes grew to the size of an Itztli, and their berries were the size of lemons. At first the lizards touched them carefully. Expecting them to explode or fall apart. They didn’t. The first lizard who took a bite was quick to share just how delicious the big, black berries tasted. To the warmblooded Itztli the colder temperature didn’t really matter but the Eloxochitli felt uncomfortable and sluggish. Everyone rested for a moment. But then, by order of the Eloxochitli they rose up and marched down south. There, just over the horizon, the great insect-city should be.

As they marched, more oversized marvels revealed themselves. The great ants, bees and red wasps who roamed the land were remarkably peaceful and sedated, showing little interest in the new arrivals other than to skitter around or buzzing over them as they went about their days. Of the mortal population only the bright red Vespian were reliably sighted, often as they caught sight of the procession and flew either south as well or moved clear of their path. The other two races were only spotted for moments by the most eagle eyed before they blended back into the long grass.

Eventually the procession caught their first sight of the ancient city, the corner of its great wall coming into view where it met a river where it flowed into the sea. Several stone based aqueducts fed off of the river a ways upstream, flowing down under the outerwall and into the land beyond. Clustered around the river mouth was a small series of wooden warphs hosting a number of sailing vessels sporting up to four dozen oars along their lengths, although most were smaller, likely fishing vessels. Oddest of all was a very small ship transporting the carcases of a large armored deer like creature coming in to dock right as the lizards watched, powered by the wing beats of a Vespian sat gripping the sides of the vessel at its back acting as what Artifex would have described to an uncomprehending audience as an air based outboard motor.

The majority of the vessels still in dock seemed to be for transporting foraging parties and their gains across the river. A glance to the west revealed the location of the docks sister, or one of them at least, found by a small town resting upstream. A glance east found a saltwater port made of and guarded by stone walls where goods would eventually end up in bulk transport.

The sailors and dock workers were goblin or Vespian, with only a smattering of the larger and bulkier Matnarin women sprinkled among them doing the heavy lifting, the last of the goods from the docked vessels being transported into the city via a small gateway in the wall. Atop these walls a crowd had gathered, brought by news born by Vespian hunters. Guards, mostly Mantarin women, were scattered around this crowd keeping order, but most seemed to be regular citizens coming to see the strange new species gracing their island’s shores. They were clad in clothing made out of furs of forest beasts, chitin, flax, and preserved giant petals, generally woven in the form of a toga.

It was clear that the people were being moved out of the way of their arrival as the last of the ships were unloaded and the workers politely urged inside or back onto their vessels which then sailed either away or to a place they could watch. Some of these were chased further off by Vespian soldiers but it was clear that while the leadership were somewhat concerned about the risks the lizards might pose, most of the citizenry were more curious than frightened by their sudden arrival as the large numbers of onlookers watching them with anticipation could attest.

From the east came a ship far more opulent than the sturdy workships docked in the harbor. Adorned with silver trim, carved from the finest wood and sporting a figurehead carved in the image of Artifex himself, the spaciouse vessel clipped along at a steady pace until it reached the bank upon which the embassy found themselves. The deck of the ship hosted a number of individuals from all species but it was a Mantarin male clad in a toga as white as the walls of the city, who approached them, wings humming as he walked down a lowered gangplank, his arms spread wide to demonstrate his disarmed state. He paused at the end of the wooden ramp, perhaps unwilling to risk the embarrassment of his heeled feet sinking into the earth and bowed before the embassy and asked, “Greetings to you travelers, do you speak the language of our divine father Artifex?”

The Itztli, for their part, were dressed in nothing more than loincloths. Upon their torsos and limbs painted lines traced around them. Forming crude glyphs upon their skin which had mostly aesthetic value. Meanwhile the Eloxochitli wore large mantles with edges painted bright red. It hid their mostly bulbous, toad-like body. On their belts were only stone and some few copper tools. Chisels, hammers, axes and such. The biggest weapon they carried were small copper knives. The Eloxochitli who was leading the expedition, Toltecatl, bid all his Iztli to move backwards and stand behind him as he approached the sandy banks of the river. They did as told. Though some felt an uneasy tension rise. The insect-warriors, as they appeared, seemed to be herding civilians away. With focused eyes they watched the opulent ship arrive. The few Iztli artisans that had come with meanwhile marveled at the construction. The silver trim. The figurehead! They wanted nothing more than to board the ship and observe everything upon it. While asking an endless barrage of questions. The hunters kept an eye on the guards on the ship though. Even more so when one insect walked up to their reverend leaders. Except he stopped right before he got off the ship. Perhaps it was a safety measure. So he could quickly run up the ship again and flee.

Toltecatl was determined to have peace though. Even if the strange creature spoke with clicks and clacks he couldn’t understand. He guessed that if he spoke in his own guttural tongue made mostly of short, low growls and grunts the diplomate wouldn’t understand him either. High above all of them, the colors in the skies which usually moved slow and gently like clouds became agitated. They started to twist and edgy around. Like some unknown force was twisting and churning them. Toltecatl felt the presence of his god once more. Urging him not to speak with his tongue, but with his mind. He bowed down before the insect and summoned up the visions he had of the mission. Of how he was supposed to come there and pass the great walls. He summoned up every thought he had about peace. About dropping weapons and Itztli embracing each other. His imagination added to it, replacing one Itztl with the bug-diplomat that had come before them. These thoughts he bundled. Slowly but surely he tried to reach out with his mind towards the one before him and offered up the bundled thoughts.

The insectoid diplomat gripped his head and stumbled, generating sounds of alarm from those on the ship. However the Mantarin quickly steadied himself and waved his concerned compatriots back from attempting to intervene. He looked Toltecatl in the eyes, nodded, glanced at the ground, steeled himself and then carefully stepped off of the gangplank. His foot sank a little in the mud, causing the Mantarin’s skin to flush the lightest of greens, but he pressed forwards onto firmer ground as he approached Toltecatl, arms spread wide.

For a moment Totlecatl was afraid he had harmed the diplomat. It would seem that his companions thought that as well. At least until he waved them off. Which put the Eloxochitl at ease as well. When the bug descended the plank and sunk slightly in the mud, he even summoned a very small smile on his face. He received the bug diplomat with open arms, embracing him like he embraced his brothers. Which was a bit of an awkward sight considering his quite small arms and the carapace having insect pushed into his bulbous body. None the less, they embraced. When Totlecatl released his friend he turned to his brothers and charges. Three distinct grunts came from him. The Zasterhian word for peace. All Itztli cheered and hissed in excitement. Meanwhile Totlecatl turned back to his newly made friend.

In his own mind he brewed up the memories of a vision he himself barely understood. It were visions of bright white stone like he had never seen before. Piled high up, not like a pyramid but like a wall. Four walls, each with grand columns carrying the beams. It looked like grand wall, with a majestic vaulted ceiling. Stairs coiled around thick columns or up walls. Creating stories with which great piles of tablets laid. In his vision he could see the grant building be raised up again and again, but within the walls. He once more offered these memories and pointed at the great white walls. He uttered the Zastarhian sound for library.

The Mantarin stood stock still for a few moments as it took in this information before his skin turned a sunny yellow. He nodded, turned, and clicked something to those onboard the ship who had a similarly jubilant reaction as the Itztli, before pointing at one of them in particular, a goblin woman in black robes decorated with yellow thread wearing a similarly colored crown with two large curved antlers or horns on it. The two seemed to argue briefly before she too walked down the gangplank. As she approached she reached to her side and retrieved a hammer and chisel from a holster at her side, each carefully decorated with unknown symbols and iconography while also showing clear signs of use. Both she presented reverently upon upturned palms to the Mantarin diplomat Mantarin diplomat who took them and in turn presented them to Totlecatl with equal care as he had received them while uttering a crude mimicry of the Zastarhian sound for Library.

Totlecatl carefully took the tools in his hand. He observed the symbols to see if they had any magical meaning. They didn’t. None the less he slowly raised the tools for all to see. Then he telekinetically raised them even higher. The Itztli behind him began to chant the Zastarhian word for Library in exhilaration. Even Totlecatl’s Eloxochitli brothers uttered the noise for library in an approving tone.

---

Several months and a great deal of xenolinguistic research later
The inner city of Sancta Civitas had grown a lot since the days when the Mantarin had effectively squatted in one of its gatehouses but was still far from reaching its full potential. Rather than a singular mass the construction work within the city had developed into four separate towns camped within the grand walls. The first hugged the majority of the western inner wall but clumped mainly around the gates leading out into the cordoned off farmland and managed wilderness and dealt primarily in the processing of the agricultural produce of the city. The second sat next to the gates to the seaport and was a center of commerce, ship building and the city’s military. Between these two towns and sitting away from the road connecting them was an industrial sector that was segregated away from where anyone wanted to live so that the fumes of smelters, forges, tanneries and the like wouldn't choke the life of the other districts.

Finally, sitting atop a hill near the back of the city was one situated around the palace that had been built by Artifex himself. Scattered around the city’s seat of power where most of its other major civic buildings, including a modest Amphitheatre, the grandest and most gloriose temple in the city dedicated to both Artifex and Cadien, a smaller one dedicated to Tekret Et Heret who’s lack of grandeur obfuscated how integral it was to the training of the cities bureaucrats, a rudimentary hospital and the city's first public bathhouse.

The latest addition to this was the library. After an initial bout of linguistic learning, planning and convincing the city’s bureaucrats to fund the project construction had begun. Guided by the embassy's designs and aided by their reptilian hands and telekinetic minds, numerous builder-priests and scores of laborers turned stone and wood imported via ship into art on a grand scale, raising a monument to arcane knowledge such that the world had never seen before.

It was truly a grand testament. The path leading from the main road was made of the same white stone the city was so known for. A colonnade led you towards the stairs that would carry you to the entrance. The columns were chopped far too thick to carry the simple entablature. Yet the Eloxochitly insisted upon it. For one day the columns would be chiseled down into statues of the grand mages of history, upholding not just the horizontal beams depicting the great feats of magic. The crepidoma led to the main elevated level. Which carried the cyclopean columns that upheld the large, domed roof of the main hall inside. The dome, however, was not complete. A hole in the middle of it allowed some light to pour in. Within the grand entrance hall stairs snaked around the inner columns or along the inner walls. Small openings led to long hallways. Filled with rooms, big and small. All suspiciously empty. Only a few rooms were furnished with benches, tables and the likes. It was a true labyrinth that surrounded the main hall. One that went up and down with no clear, standardized levels. Some passages led to tunnels carved into the earth and stone. Leading to deep vaults. More often than not, corridors ended abruptly. As if something was to be built at their end but the builders hadn’t gotten to it yet. Deep under the ground the tunnels stopped in the same, sudden manner. The Eloxochitli insisted that this was all per design.

Some doors led one outside. Into the large gardens. Much like the inside of the library, the outside had no care for level terrain. Small, artificially raised mounds surrounded the large, circular building. Some places were hedged, others paths led to grand terraces sitting in front of small insect-made waterfalls. Meditative rock gardens were tucked away in hidden corners and small arbors were planted with among others: alder, rowan and hawthorn. It was a gentle, soothing place.

On the day that work was deemed complete a celebration was held, with people coming from all across the city to bear witness to the latest addition to their city. The Mantarin Queen Regina herself made one of her rare appearances to take part in the ceremonial blessing of the construction, before the floor was briefly handed over to the Mantarin Diplomat Amulius, who had first welcomed the Embassy to the city.

“Thank you one and all for coming on this historic day where we celebrated not just a new addition to our city’s architecture, but also once again celebrate our latest and newest friends and members of our community, the Eloxochitli and Itztli,” a cheer went up from the crowd as the Mantarin swept a hand towards the Embassy’s people, “and a celebration of the gifts that they have brought. Magic!” the mantarin raised a theatrical hand, spoke a few words, and conjured a simple glowing sphere. It was an amateur's display of magic by most standards, but to the masses, most of whom had never who had never seen such things in their lives, it inspired first silent awe and then wild cheering.

“Thank you, thank you. I am told that this is the least you will see today, for the structure we have built together is to be one of the centers of magic, not just on our island but on the entirety of Galbar! ” more cheering “and now, to officially open this wonder of the world I hand the stage over to my good friend: Totlecatl!” Amulius announced before bowing to the crowded and making way for the head of the Embassy.

A proud Totlecatl moved up the stage to face the crowd. The Library had been constructed as per their masters visions. As his new friend Amulius said, it would form a center for magic across all of Galbar. “Friends of all races!” He boomed across the open plaza before him. “Today will be immortalized forever. We could not have done it alone and therefore we wish to offer our thanks to Queen Regina and her countless advisors for allowing us to build this magnificent marvel here. Without them, The Library would never be made. They have our gratitude. And so do all of you have our gratitude for allowing us into your city. For helping us, teaching us and in turn letting us teach you. Maybe the gods forever bless Sancta Civitas!”

An Itztli got upon the elevation upon which The Library stood and handed over the ceremonial tools that were first offered to the Emissaries when they arrived. The three brothers of Totlecatl who had come with each closed their eyes and lifted their arms. Totlecatl, telekinetically, was raised up until he hung in front of the entablature and carved not the Zastarhian word but the Artifexian word for Library into it.

Then the eternal faith of the Eloxochitli was answered. They had insisted at every moment it came up that the Library should be almost entirely empty. For a blessing would fill it. As Totlecatl was lowered back down the colors in the skies became agitated again. Just like the first time the Emissaries arrived at Sancta Civitas. Yet now it came closer and closer. The Itztli and Eloxochitli were calm and content. It was their god who came down, after all. The Winds of Magic entered The Library through the oculus in the dome and filled the main hall almost entirely. Light flashes a hundred times within. Then the Winds ascended back towards the heavens. Leaving behind tiny wisps of blue energy floating everywhere in the main hall.

“Enter The Library, friend. Call for wisps.” Totlecatl said to Amulius. The first Vessel would be filled with the most humble display of magic.

The Mantarin ambassador nodded slowly and then walked towards the library, his carapace tinged with black, which Totlecatl now recognised as the Mantarin color for awe. It was an emotion reflected by the gathered crowd, who held their collective breath as they craned their necks to see inside. Just past the doors of the Library Amulius raised his hands to the wisps and spoke the incantation for the same light spell he had demonstrated to the crowd.

One wisp shot off straight to Amulius. It stopped in between his hand and began to glow brightly. The otherwise gaseous looking wisp began to solidify as the glow vanished. Creating a rectangular tablet in between his hands. Upon it was written, in Artifexian, the incantation for the spell and the specific instructions towards the mana it carried. It fell into Amulius’ hands once the tablet was fully formed. The diplomat stared disbelievingly at it for a few moments before raising it up for all to see “First spell recorded!” Boomed an excited Totlecatl over the cheering of the amazed crowd, “Endless more to eternalize!”

summary

The Emissaries from Xal-Zastarha come to Sancta Civitas via Magnus Pod with the goal of building a grand library of the arcane arts, landing a ways north of the city. They are greeted by the Mantarin ambassador Amulius and his entourage who arrive via ship to intercept their journey to the city proper inorder to gauge their intentions. Qael grants his Emissaries the ability to transmit ideas and images telepathically, which allows their leader Totlecatl to first communicate friendship and then their desire to build a library, both of which Sancta Civitas’ Ambassador accepts.

The narrative then jumps forwards to the opening of the great library, skipping us past all the xenolinguistics and arguing over planning and funding. There the queen and priests of the city bless the building’s structure, Amulius shows off some basic magic he has learned from the Emissaries to the crowd gathered to witness the opening and then Totlecatl formally names The Library, at which point Qael blesses it. After the winds of magic rush into the building it becomes filled with wisps (named Vessels). Totlecatl has Amulius demonstrate the ability of The Library’s wisps to form recordings of spells onto stone tablets. He then announces their intention to record as many spells as possible so that they may be stored and learned from for all eternity, much to the delight of the city who are enamored with this new and exciting thing known as magic.

There's also a lot of scenery building depicting the layout and workings of modern Sancta Civitas in there.

mp/dp/prestige

Artifex
Start mp/dp: 4/2
Used 1 dp at some point in the past to teach the people of Sancta Civitas how to make good bronze age boats

Used 1 dp to grant the Library the title: Marvel of Construction.

2/5 towards stoneworking

3/5 towards ships

End mp/dp: 4/0

Qael’Naath
Start: 4MP/4DP
- 2MP >> Grant Emissaries the ability Mindcasters II - The Emissaries are naturally able to connect to minds and share visions, thoughts and even the products of imagination with those connected. This allows them to rudimentary ‘talk’ to races and factions whose language is utterly foreign. However this sharing of thoughts can only be done across a very short distance. Generally no more than across 3 meter. It also requires at the very least a neutral relationship between the two sides in the conversation. Should one prefer not to be talked through in their own mind, they can almost instantly and subconsciously shutdown the stream of thoughts. It is also important to note that this is a one-to-one connection and cannot create a “web of thoughts”.
- 2 DP >> Consecrate The Library

The Library

Transformable Vessels II – The Vessels that store this information are able to alter their shape depending upon what information must be stored. For mana spells they will generally take the shape of clay tablets, scrolls or books (depending on the age and general knowledge of the world). Druidic ceremonies would be stored as mosaics or tapestries showing the event with all the appropriate required context written on it. Spiritsinging’s uniqueness makes it impossible to replicate, however the songs and poems used to quicken the Worldsong are still stored with the appropriate context upon tablets. Telluric magic is impossible to record, as is the use of Deepspeak.
Marvel of Construction I - The Library is built with an unparalleled degree of complexity and skill for it’s day and age, with high ceiling, many splendid columns and immaculately decorated gardens outside. These advanced features will also be found when the planned expansions to the building are undergone at a later date.

End: 2MP/2DP

Prestige
10K+ Post length
+5 Prestige >> Emissaries (Total 8)
+5 Prestige >> Sancta Civitas (Total 10)
+5 Prestige >> The Library (Total 5)

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Life on Xal-Zastarha had been growing steadily. Though upon the floating island, as big as it was, there was only so much food. Still, the Itztli and Eloxochitli were thriving in their own unique way. Though the Eloxochitli had become somewhat reclused. Their grandfathers had talked about the great god of magic. How he taught them everything. Since that age, he had vanished though. Nobody heard anything from him.

Until that faithful day. The Eloxochitli were meditating in their respective temples. Itztli attendants watched their every move. These lizards had grown to understand their masters better than their average brethren. Eloxochitli acted slower, talked using fewer words and sometimes barely moved to request something. Yet the attendants knew full well that a raised finger meant food, two meant sun and three meant…well nobody knew what three meant. Though they were holding those fingers up now. All of them. From deep within the bowels of the temples, the attendants could not see the majestic lights dancing in the sky. Sure, the ink-in-the-sky was a constant comfort for the more artistically inclined Itztli, yet now color danced upon the very winds. Three fingers meant God. The Eloxochitli opened their voices and turned to their attendants. With a guttural roar, they transferred their command. The message was simple: open the temple. Upon the side of the pyramid, Itztli moved and grabbed heavy ropes, hanging on thick stone doors hanging off the side of the temple. They pulled with all their might, and the heavy doors slowly opened up. Letting the sun and more importantly the colors inside. All of them gazed upon the colors and heard his voice.

His wish was clear. The time of Great Absence was over. Qael’Naath had returned. With him came instructions. Demands. Missions. Most importantly: visions.

A group of older Eloxochitli, those who had survived for many centuries already, received a vision of a far-away land. Across the Great Pool. Where insects scattered about grand, majestic white stone buildings. In that vision, they saw lizard and insect alike helping raise a grand building upon from the ground. They saw deep vaults dug and strange wisps like creations fluttering about the grand halls. Which were filled with clay tablets and majestic wall paintings. Its purpose did not need to be explained. All immediately understood the purpose of the Library. Their duty was clear. For the first time in several decades, these ancient Eloxochitli rose up and began gathering their attendants. Who in turn began gathering the strongest and most skilled builders amongst the Itztli.

Departing the floating islands would not be an easy endeavor. Xal-Zastarha has kept the Itztli and Eloxochitli safely away from the world but now they had to dive headfirst into it. Of course, the nearby Eloxochitli had already created a plan. Through the subtle manipulations of mana all around them, they lured great Magnus Pods from the skies down upon the island. The Itztli then switfly bound ropes and wicker baskets on them. The first few efforts to control and tame these Magnus Pods were suprisingly succesful. When the baskets were loaded and ready, two dozen Magnus Pods floated out from Xal-Zastarha. Ushered forward by the Eloxochitli.

~

Months passed since the coming of the Winds of Magic. The temple sky-doors were closed again, while the younger Eloxochitli reflected constantly upon their visions. For they had received a different task. One that required a different set of tools. The Itztli temple attendants counted the passing of the white moon per their masters' command. Tensions were rising. Certain younger Itztli had dropped their tools per their masters' request as well and had returned to training. For two thousand years, they had built the temples, training to fight was generally a pass-time. But now the artisans had stopped carving wood and began carving the natural onyx upon the island. The shards they made they inlaid upon wooden clubs.

It was slow and delicate work. Yet with every moon passed, one artisan or another had managed to finish a macuahuitl. Itztli, meanwhile, were once more sharpening their predatory senses through hunt and duels. The later came with a lot of hissing, blood, and scars. Their natural affinity towards mana sorcery caused them not to just fight with wooden sticks, but with invisible forces of will. Fire or ice exploded from strikes, while others forced the roots of trees to net their opponents.

When the time was finally right, and Xal-Zastarha was finally in range of Toraan, the younger Eloxochitli marched out of their own temples as well. Before they stood the trained, armed and supplied Itztli. Ready to descend upon an unknown world and find an Abomination. None had met one, ever. They only knew how it looked through their vision. Bipedal, like they were. Yet somehow with soft skin and hair. It walked with the skins of its vanquished predators around it. Holding a power that rejected mana. Whatever they were, one had to be caught and examined. So the Eloxochitli could understand the cursed creature. This time only half a dozen Magnus Pods floated off across the horizon, away from Xal-Zastarha.

Summary

The Eloxochitli & Itztli have been slowly but surely growing upon Xal-Zastarha. Waiting for the return of Qael'Naath. When the Winds of Magic comes for them, they are given two missions by it: go to Sancta Civitas and establish a library there and go to Toraan and find a druid. Two groups each leave upon the flying Magnus Pods with several months in between them.

Prestige & MP

Start Qael'Naath: 5MP/5DP
-1 DP: Make the Emissaries

Emissaries

The Emissaries act as the direct hand of Qael'Naath. Even though only the upper echelon priests will directly commune with the god.

Transformation of Tlahquilli I - The Transformation is a chanted spell that allows a user to completely turn their bodies and everything they carry into a gaseous state, which is encased in mana. Allowing them to fly at a significant speed for just a split second. Covering about 15 meters. They cannot go through physical objects (IE: they cannot “blink” through a wall). In this form, they do not maintain any sense of the world. To those who use it, it’s like they closed they blinked and they are suddenly 15m further. To the outside world, this Transformation looks like a bright flash of blue light. The spell cannot be used in rapid succession as it required a charge of mana to build up upon the user's skin. Finally, they must have a line of sight to where they actually want to end up to.

_{2/5 to Spell Portfolio}
-1 MP >> Teach the civilization of Xal-Zasterha how to tame Magnus Pods
End Qael'Naath: 4MP/4DP
5.6K Length >> +3 Prestige to Emissaries

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