While we are waiting ... I thought a focus for our creative energies if any want to try. And then other dieties can likewise place their challenge and prize.
The prize. Madadeva will use 1 DRP for the winner's Desire
The contest: Write a story about an epic battle! The protagonist should be a Deity of P2 or P3. The antagonist can be either a P2 or P3 deity or some other foe fought in a different realm. The battle can involve the deities directly, their prophets, their followers, their allies, or any combination. It can use prior turn submissions and results expanded to create a compelling tale. No rules other than creativity and that the battle must have a conclusion (e.g., win, lose, draw.) Let's say all stories entered by 8/29 will be voted on. Winner is the deity with maximum votes. In the case of ties; repeat votes with only the highest vote getters until a winner is selected. Since I am giving the prize, if I post a story it is not eligible for votes. If there is only one post they win automatically. If there are no posts, someone else can figure out what we can do while we wait for Turn results!
There are infinite branches on the Tree of Time. What happened on one branch did not necessarily happen on another. The World Breaker destroyed Eiran in some; yet not in others. On some branches, Vadhaka never entered the mists. On others, his actions destroyed Eiran.
On yet others, he did not ask for the Interdiction. It is upon one of these branches we now cast our gaze. A force of hideous evil has invaded Shakari. A year ago, they simply appeared. Portals opened in space. Yet more of Eiran's plage of tears in the fabric of reality. And through them came an unliving army of immense size.
Caught entirely unawares, Shakari was immediately damaged to a terrible degree. But Shakari was never helpless. The Trees and beings of power rallied. The fighting was, perhaps, close to even for a time.
But the leader of the unliving was one named Volson. He came several weeks after his hordes, wanting to see how they did without him. When he came, he was entirely unstoppable. His sword could cut through the thickest Oak with a single swing! His fighting skills were well beyond any who came at him. He so outclassed everyone, in fact, that he withdrew from the war, lest it end too soon. He simply watched, shouting taunts at Bhakti's defenders, giving good-natured cheers to his forces when they slaughtered a particularly large number of Trees or Lovers.
And the unliving were winning. There numbers seemed endless. Shakari fought valiantly. But if only a single Tree or Lover was lost for every hundred unliving, the Forest would be destroyed with many millions of unliving left standing.
After only a few months, Bhakti knew what the outcome would be. And after a year, he said goodbye to his Wife and Children.
"Bhakti, how can I leave you now?" she pleaded.
"My Love, our Children must be taken to safety. If we lose, they will be killed. Or worse. If I defeat him, all is well. But if I lose, I die knowing they are safe. Please, Jove, I cannot fight while I'm worrying about them. Take them. If I die, and Volson comes after them... Well, I've seen enough mother bears in my Forests to know how steep a price you will make him pay before you are dead and he can take them."
Hanging her head, tears dripping from her chin, Jove whispered. "Yes, my Love. If they kill you, they will pay dearly before they have your Children. I will make them pay for having taken from me the best husband a goddess ever had."
Putting her arms around Bhakti's neck, Jove kissed him with all the passion of their wedding night. Then, she gathered their Children, and, with a quick wink, Travelled somewhere far, far away.
[One year later...]
This is the end. There's no way to hold out any longer.
Bhakti had taken the form of an immense Tree months ago. He had stood in the Heart of Shakari, giving all the strength he could to the Forest. But it was not enough. Most of his followers and Trees were dead. Wiri had not been seen or heard in three weeks. Only Allyria was left. And she was weak. Fighting as best she could. Even her incredible Healing powers could not repair her indefinitely.
And then she was gone. As quick as that. Sliced nearly in half by an unliving claw. Her body tried, but could not Heal close to that much damage.
"NO!!!!!" Bhakti's grief-filled cry was echoed by the remaining few thousand worshipers who remained.
"Why?! What do they want? Why are we all to die?" they asked their god, through tears and pain.
"They want nothing. They simply hate all that grows and is healthy. We can do nothing to change their very being. We either let them destroy all that we Love, or we die defending it."
And so they died. Death piled upon death. Trees shattered. Followers gasped their last breaths in horrifying pain.
The Bhakti-Tree stood as long as it could. Then, with a crack of splitting wood that deafened his worshipers and enemies alike, he was in his normal form again, on his knees. He could sustain his Forest no longer. And he diminished. Not in size, but in substance. His power faded, until he seemed to be nothing more than human.
Without Bhakti's strength, his followers and Trees died all the more easily. Hacked and burned. Flesh, blood, bone, wood, and sap. All hack to pieces and scattered, with no more resistance than grain under a scythe. And the invaders were laughing all the while.
When none opposed them any longer, the undead horde began to leave. Portals opened in space, and they stepped out of Eiran's plane. Watching them go, smiling and nodding in glee, Volson approached Bhakti's defeated, crying form. "Fool! To think you could withstand me! To think your pathetic attempts at war would slow me down for even a moment! You were never an opponent; only a practice dummy for my warriors! You should have let your wife stay and fight with you. I suspect she was always stronger than you. That kiss she gave you when she left - oh yes, I had eyes even in your private chambers! - showed more fire than anything you have shown me since! I never wanted your children anyway. I just wanted all of this green filth gone!
"And now, you are less than a practice dummy. You are nothing. You are dead!" And with the word dead, he drew his sword, lightning quick, and slammed it into Bhakti's back, the point coming out of Bhakti's chest. He withdrew his blade and wiped it clean with Bhakti's hair. Then, he spit on the dead god's body, before turning away, leading his elite guard through the final rift before it closed.
Finally, they were gone. And there was silence. Silence but for the crackle and pop of burning wood. For three full days, there was nothing else. Not even the cries of families as they examined bodies for Loved ones, because even the families were long dead.
Then, without transition, Bhakti lifted his head, and cleared his throat.
And the devestation all around him changed. Shimmered. The broken Trees were nearly all whole once again. Most of the torn and bloody bodies vanished. Most of the rest were hale, if a bit worse for the wear. They stood up, looks of happiness mixed with looks of suspense. Scattered whispers were heard. "Did it work?" "Is it over?"
Bhakti smiled. "Well done, everyone. Yes, it seems we've won." He climbed to his feet, in his full strength. His smile faded to grief at the small number of bodies that truly were dead. "Not entirely, though." he whispered.
"My Lord," Allyria said, wincing from the soreness in her side, "all of our forces who died would do so many times over for Shakari."
"Yes, I know, Prophet. But needless, senseless death..." Bhakti shook his head. "Wiri is well?"
"Yes. He is regrowing much already."
"Good. Good."
Turning to the shadows, Bhakti bowed deeply. "Thank you, Mithyaat. You do extraordinary work. I'm glad to see your abilities did not diminish along with your taste in men."
From the heavens, a voice boomed. "Insignificant speck! Perhaps I will finish what they could not! I AM DESTRUCTION ITSELF! I WILL..."
"Hush, husband," Mithyaat Vam soothed. "Do not be lured into things so easily."
All lies and jest
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest -Paul Simon
"The Glorious Battle of The Master against the evil aggressors from the town that formerly rhymed with orange"
-----
Picture in your mind's eye, a small town. Begin by viewing it from above, if you would. From the point of view of a seagull, look down upon the place where the wide lazy river pours fourth from the plains into the ocean. See the streets and buildings, lined up neatly. See the barges coming down the river, and the ships in the harbor. Now, follow the gull as it swoops down to perch on a stack of crates just delivered from a distant shore. Look past the gull now to the people of the town, going about their business.
At first glance, they seem like people the world over. Humans and dwarrows, houka and nhruuk, even a centaur are here. And yet, something seems missing. They are all working industriously, and yet there is no conflict. Glance up, now, and notice the sign of Bel over every doorway. This is a city of peace, and all within it have relinquished violence from their lives.
You wouldn't think that this would be the setting for a great battle, would you?
After a time, the gull will finish its meal and take flight once again. Let us follow it's flight once more, this time heading out to sea. It the gull flies higher, it spots a ship on the horizon. Thinking that this might be a fishing vessal, the gull speeds off towards the pure white sail. But, once it gets closer, there are no piles of fish waiting for it, and it turns around again.
But let us look further at this ship. Notice the crew all lined up on the deck. Notice the captain standing by the wheel, addressing them. Listen now to what he says:
"Now listen here, you dogs. This is a city of Bel we be headin' to. They're a different sort there, and no mistake. They don't tolerate brawlin', or rough-housin', or any kind of voilence at all."
A smaller man at the back of the crowd mutters, "What'll they do, bust my knees with a club and throw me in the drink?" Every group has one of these men. They're always smaller than the rest of them, and they always stand to the back of the crowd.
"No, you daft fool. They'll... I don't know what they do. But you'll not be the same. They'll suck all the violence out of ya. All the drive, and all the stubborn fight. They'll turn ya into one-a them, with a 'How do yer do?' and a 'Cheerio' for yer old mates. And I'll not have one of them abord my ship. It's terrible bad luck. So if any of you dogs gets out of line and suffers that fate, I'll leave you there on the docks." He was nearly frothing at the mouth by the time he was done, pounding on the rail with his one remaining fist.
Some of the men took a step backwards from the venom of his outburst. Others glanced to the smudge on the horizon, where they could see the city coming ahead of them. They signed a ward against evil as they looked away.
"So, you play nice with the men at the harbor. Nobody will leave the ship, except me and Smithers. We dock, unload our passanger, take on supplies, and back to the open seas, where it's safe. You got that?" When there were only nervous mutters from the crew, his fist pounded back down again "GOT THAT?"
"Yes cap'n."
-----
Records show that on the first day of Spring, in the third year of the third age, a ship docked at the port town of Borange. Records do not show the name of the ship, but they list no cargo was taxed by the harbormaster. Only one passanger was listed as debarking, and a visitor's visa was issued only to "The Master" on that day.
-----
"Welcome to Borange, stranger!" beamed the Harbormaster, extending his open hand to shake the visitor's hand.
The tall, bleached white stranger winced noticably at the words, though he extended his hand in return. "I thank you for the welcome, and forgive you for the unintentional hurt. I wish to stay in your fine town for an unknown period of time. What is the tarrif? Also, where is your courthouse or town council? I have an urgent matter to present."
The Harbormaster looked concerned. "Urgent? Is there violence? That won't be tolerated here."
The Master nodded his head solemnly. "I hope you're right sir. I represent the peole of The Numen, from across the sea. There is great violence being inflicted upon us from afar, and only your people can help us to stop it. I have come to ask for your help."
"Of course we will help you. Any who seek the peace of Bel shall be granted it. There is no tarrif for such a visit, of course. Please proceed down the main street to the square. The town council building is the dominant building there. Tell your story to the Master of Ceremonies, and he will summon the Councilors poste haste. I'm sure they will be able to help."
-----
Priest Mayweather looked up from his meditation after the polite cough from his assistant. The cough came a respectful period after the door was opened and he didn't respond. Before that were a few respectful knocks with long pauses between them. Dudley was nothing if not respectful of Mayweather's meditation, so this amount of polite noise must mean something important was going on. So, he opened his eyes and smiled his beautific smile. "Yes Dudley. How may I enhance your calm today?"
"Sir. The Mayor is here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment, but he says that it's urgent he speak with you." replied Dudley, with worry in his voice.
"I see. Well, then I shall speak with his Lordship the Mayor right away. Please, see him in."
The man who was ushered into the room had a confused look on his face. He was older, quite portly, and clearly a man of power. His clothes were all of the finest material, and he wore quite a lot of jewelry, even beyond the ceremonial medalion of his office. Instead of going through the formal greetings, he simply walked to the ornate chair facing the priest's desk and collapsed into it heavily.
"We're being... this man says he represents..." he started to say... then reached his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"What is it, Oliver? What's happening?"
The Mayor folds his hands together into his lap, silently praying to Bel for peace in his soul. "We received a visitor today. He arrived by ship from... I don't know where. It doesn't really matter, I guess. He says that he's the prophet of... some god... or gods?... named The Newman? Anyway, he's suing us. He says that we need to all leave town. Something about how naming our town Borange is an attack upon his followers."
-----
Imagine the courtroom. Imagine it filled with all the people of Borange. No goods are being shipped today. Only the Harbormaster's junior assistant is still in the port, in case any ships arrive. He's been instructed to tell them to dock and wait until tomorrow. He wasn't happy with the duty, but he had nobody below him to whom he could delegate the task. Imagine all the seats in the courtroom being filled, and then all the space around the walls of the room. The doors were open, and more of the town stood in the hallway. Not a sound was made, so that those in back could still hear the procedings.
Before the Magistrate stood the Lord Mayor in his finest garb. Next to him was the town's priest of Bel. Standing apart from them was a tall, bleached man. He was naked, though when he turned to face the crowd, they saw that he was missing certain parts. Still, everyone was certain that he was male, in spite of the lack of the main defining characteristic of masculenity. His broad chest was clearly not female, however. So, they all continued to think of him as simply a male who'd been unfortunately disfigured.
The 'man' finally speaks. "Your honor. I am the Prophet of The Numen. I have come here on Their behalf, to sue for peace."
The old man on the Throne of Justice holds up his hand for silence. "This court has no knowledge of The Numen, or his prophet."
"Your pardon, your honor. The Numen are many. They are a collective. And I am Their prophet."
"I see. You are a single prophet of an entire Pantheon?"
"No, your honor. They are the God of Knowledge, your honor. As your lord Bel is the God of Peace."
"The God. But there are many of them? And still only one of you?"
"Yes, your honor. Exactly right."
His Honor, Magistrate Spiro, lowered his head for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. But when he looked up again, the bleached man was still standing in front of him. So this must not be a dream. "Bel grant me peace." he thought, before speaking aloud again. "Fine. For the sake of argument, let us assume that the court accepts your statement that there are many gods of Knowledge and that you are prophet to all of them. There are so many new gods popping up all over Eiran, that's not entirely out of the question. I heard a rumor last week about a God of Ignorance, or a God of Not Knowing... something like that. So, what does... er... what DO the Gods of Knowledge wish from us?"
"Your honor, The Numen submit that your town in toto is causing constant and material damage to all of Their followers, and by extension to all of the world. We feel that this damage constitutes an attack upon us. We would like you to stop."
"What? The followers of Bel are attacking you? Don't be absurd."
"No, your honor. Of course not. It is only the citizens of the town of Bor..." the bleached man stopped, suppressing a flinch almost like pain. "This town, your honor. Just you of this town are attacking us."
"Sir... quite aside from the insanity that a town deep inside the territory of the God of Peace somehow attacking others, please explain to me how this group of people standing around you are somehow attacking ANYBODY from here, without actually going to... where did you say you were from again?"
"We do not yet have a home, your honor."
"Ah, excellent. So, explain quickly how we can be attacking you somewhere else, while simultaneously remaining peacefully here in our town. Because we all would be interested to learn how we can be doing two things in entirely two different places at the same time."
"Of course, your honor."
"And don't waste my time, young man. We followers of Bel are peaceful, but we don't need to sit here and listen to you spouting nonsense at us all morning, either."
"Yes sir. Of course, sir. The Numen are a newly ascended deity, placed over the domain of Knowledge. Recently, there have been several portents of a dire future in stall for all of Eiran. In order to help ward off these events, vague though they are, The Numen have been petitioning the AllFather for clues to what lies in store."
"I... see." the Magistrate said.
"Part of the the petition involves a rather complex ritual to gain the AllFather's attention. Part of that ritual involves the repetition of the phrase 'Nothing rhymes with orange.' several times by some of The Numen."
"Nothing rhymes with... is this going anywhere? Because I'm sensing that our time is being wasted by all this. I warned you about that."
"Yes sir, I'm getting to the point just now, sir. The point, quite simply, is that the very existance of your town invalidates the statement. The Numen have so far gotten no response from the AllFather, and They believe it to be because the fundamental statement of the ritual is incorrect." The naked man crosses his arms across his chest, with a look on his face that seemed to imply that what he had said was somehow the entire point.
"So... let me make sure I understand you again. Your God, or Gods, who claim dominion over Knowledge, have themselves been begging for information from the AllFather. They built this begging around the idea that nothing rhymes with orange. And they claim that the existance of this town invalidates that statement. A town, I might add, that has existed for quite some time."
"Yes sir. Once again, you're exactly right." he beamed.
The Magistrate stares at the man. Stares at him for several seconds. "I know I'm going to regret this, since I just asked you NOT to waste our time. But my curiosity is getting the best of me. How, exactly does your God or Gods... Gods of Knowledge, in fact... how does their not knowing of the previous existance of the town of Borange and trying to incorrectly claim that nothing rhymes with orange in some ritual to the AllFather... how is that a case of US attacking THEM?"
"But... don't you see? By invalidating the ritual, you're stopping The Numen from getting this information from the AllFather. By not having this information, you're preventing The Numen from using that information to help Their followers. You're also preventing The Numen from using that information to divert the possible doom to the world. Doom that may very well involve fire raining down from above and destroying us all."
"Go on." said the Magistrate, from behind the fingers once again pinching the bridge of his nose.
"On, sir? There is no 'on'. You're causing irreperable damage to the followers of The Numen, and to all the world, and you must cease it immediately. Failing to do so, we feel, constitutes an attack... in a way, it's almost like you're committing violence upon us, though indirectly. This town must cease to exist."
Silence fills the room for a few moments, as the Magistrate stares at the man.
"I... need to think about this. Lord Mayor, Your Holiness, would you please accompany me to my chambers, while I deliberate?"
-----
An hour later, the three men came back to the courtroom. They looked tired. They gave off an air of despair. It was more the stillness of having been beaten so much that you no longer try to avoid the pain. Not the tranquility of peace, just the numbness of too much suffering. From looking at them, you would think that they were the ones being attacked, and not the followers of The Numen.
"Stranger... my esteemed collegue, servent of Bel, tells me that you do actually represent the interests of some form of divine being. Further, because I don't believe ANYBODY could come up with a story this stupid, I will choose to believe you about this ritual your Gods are trying to use. And while we admit no fault, and accept no guilt, we believe that you or others like you will continue to waste our time over this idiocy. In my experience, crazy ideas like this tend to attract a certain type of crazy individual. And that type just won't let go of something. So, we're willing to work with you. And in spite of the fact that we had the name first, and that your God of Knowledge must not be that knowledgable if he not only has to beg for hints from Xar, but also didn't know of the existance of an entire town when he invented this ritual... in spite of all that, his Lordship the Mayor says that we can change the name of the town. But ONLY if you agree to go away and not bother us with this insanity again. You're giving us all headaches with your foolishness."
-----
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how The Master won his first battle in the name of The Numen. Proving for the first time, but not the last, that he was more than a match for any contender, no matter the forum. He beat the followers of Peace, in a battle without fighting. Just like he would later defeat the Goddess of Light with the illumination of Knowledge, and the Nouka Goddess of pain with... well... a small ball of twine. But the Nouka aren't hard to beat.
So, this was always meant to be my real story submission. But on principal, I had to post the Destruction of Borange first.
The two armies faced each other across the field. In this case, "field" really means "empty wasteland where some unknown city used to be", but it was a large flat area with nothing on it to interfere with the fighting to come. So the generals on both sides had been calling it a field. There was nothing of value to this place... no reason to fight over it. It's only good quality anymore was simply that merely standing here wouldn't kill you from either radiation or random acts of magic. There were few such places left in the world... which brings the armies here.
To the South stood the army of The Unknowable, lead through the actions of the Prophet Domina Incognii. Arrayed behind her stood the army of those who held faith in Magic.
To the North stood the army of The Numen, lead through the actions of the Prophet known only as The Master. Arrayed behind him stood the army of those who held faith in Knowledge.
There were no others in the world. All the other gods were gone, consumed in the fighting that began in the Third Age. One after another, they fell to each other or to one of the two remaining. Their followers died with them, or were converted to another faith. And through the crucible of time (see footnote #1), the only faithful left were all being of extreme faith. With the world in such ruins, only the zealots have chosen to survive. And on today, the day of the Final Battle, every zealot in the world... which is to say, every person in the world, is present here on this field.
As the sun rose in the East, causing only a mild lightening in the maelstrom in the sky, power began to coalesce near the prophets on each side. To the north, 600 ghostly beings appeared in a line, facing the army. To the south, only a single being appeared, facing Domina Incognii. The two armies stirred. Surely this meant the attack would begin soon. The zealots on both sides were eager to get about the business of destroying their enemies.
Instead, the 601 divine bodies and two prophets strode towards the center of the field.
600 voices ring out, clearly audible to the soldiers in both armies. "Champions?" The army to the north feels a wash of ecstasy as they hear the voice of their God.
A single voice replies, coming as if from an unidentifiable gender, from all directions at once, "A single choice." The army to the south feels vague discomfort as the Unknowable will is expressed in a single concrete point.
"Yes, a tipping point. Who is left, who has not chosen?" say the 600.
"All have chosen. There must be someone new. Someone not tied to either side." says the one.
"Or someone tied equally to both sides." reply the 600.
"Fiat" say 601 voices at once, to the accompaniment of one army groaning in pleasure, and one in discomfort.
"Champions, then?" say the 600.
"Yours is not fit." says the one.
Six hundred heads turn towards The Master. He is a tall man, though not technically a man. He is both undead and neutered. Beautiful in form and craftsmanship, large and strong. Like any good tool, he is able to perform his task. But also like any tool, there was no thought given to his own pleasure. Six hundred voices say "At long last, we forgive you. Your punishment is ended. Live again, and enjoy your full form again."
The tall white man then screams, and collapses to the ground. The army to the north hears his pain, and yet they know that this is no attack. In a moment, the man returns to his feet. His skin is still pale, but now has the flush of life to it. There is once again blood flowing through his veins, giving him a pinkish tint he previously lacked. And he is now complete, and technically male again. As he returns to his position, he turns to face the prophet from the south, a shorter dark skinned woman. The first woman he has seen, since he had the ability to care about gender. He demonstrates now that his new anatomy is completely functional.
"Fiat" say 601 voices at once, to the accompaniment of groans from the two prophets.
The prophets step forward and couple right there on the spot. The act is over in only a few minutes; the dance of life stripped down to its pure mechanics. No love, no tenderness, just friction and conception. When it is done, they disengage, but remain holding hands. And somehow they both always manage to stay to the north or south.
Gestation takes only a few more minutes, with Domina Incognii swelling up almost comically. She eases herself to the ground, with The Master assisting her to lie back. Then she screams, as the child is born. The baby's first sound comes just as the mother's stops. In fact, both Domina and The Master collapse in that moment, and disolve away to dust.
Each army hears without hearing, in the voices of their two Gods, that a deal has been struck. A new life has been made, a mortal child of the prophets of the Gods. Upon the deaths of her parents, she is now the prophet for both gods, tied to them both equally.
And now she must choose. Choose which God she will serve. Choose Knowledge or the Unknowable. Choose Reason or Metaphor. Science or Magic. By choosing, she will tip the balance in favor of that God... of that army. Her choice will decide the fate (see footnote #2) of the world.
Six hundred bodies move towards the girl child lying in the center of the battlefield, overlapping in space until there is a single indistinct humanoid form standing there. The form of the other God was always indistinct, and now the two of them look almost identical. They each lean forward and begin whispering to the child. As they do so, a haze begins to form around them. Some members of each army recognize this as the passage of Time differently in one place than another. When they notice that the child is now a toddler, that Time inside the bubble must be passing much faster than for them.
Soon the child is a young woman, standing naked before her two Gods and two armies of zealots. And then she is middle aged, though still standing proud and strong. Quickly, they see her begin to hunch with age, her skin sagging in places, her long hair shifting to grey as they watch. She hunches further, sags yet still more.
In a moment more, the bubble vanishes. The woman falls forward to collapse upon the ground, and the two Gods kneel on either side of her to keep whispering. Whispering promises, threats, portents of doom for the world, anything they think might make her choose one over the other.
All the world is silent, now. Even the wind has stopped. Every zealot in each army can hear with perfect clarity the sound of the old woman's last breath. With that breath, she says only one word, "Enough!"
And with that word, something insubstantial leaps from her rapidly decomposing body. A glowing explosion, a cone of light. It engulfs the forms of the two Gods still kneeling around the spot and they two vanish.
For, during the brief time of her life, the thousands of zealots believed in her. Every soldier on both sides of the field had complete faith that she would choose and decide their fate. For only a moment, they had transferred their faith and belief to her, instead of to their deities. When she died, she ascended to Godhood, with the complete faith of every person in the world. Her first action was to destroy the two who had destroyed most of the world in their needless fighting.
"People of Eiran" she said. "No longer will you fight for some greedy God, giving all of yourselves and giving up the futures of your children. I am the only God left, and in spite of your previous enmity, you all follow me now. My domain is you, simply put. And unlike my predecessors, my wish is to survive by helping you to survive. I was told all of the horrible things that would happen if either Knowledge or The Unknowable won this war, and I realized that neither could win it. Because if either one was victorious, all of you would lose."
"They did not love you. They did not even wish to live. They only wished to win, at any cost. And you are the cost. So, go out into the world. Repair the damage that has been brought from your fighting. Work together to do this. Perhaps, as my parents were able to do, some among you may be able to share across sides and create something new. Something to bring you together, instead of keep you apart. Pray to me, and I will answer your call as I can. Work together to better the world, and I will help you. The more of you there are, and the stronger you become, the stronger I will be, and the more I can be of assistance. Keep that in mind as you deal with each other. Because working together will literally make you better off, while working against each other will harm everyone."
---footnotes---
1. The God of Time fell during one of the few brief alliances between The Numen and The Unknowable. His followers and his powers were split evenly between the two, so that neither side could gain an advantage over the other in this area. Koel had previously been greater than either of them, so they had been forced to join forces to destroy him.
2. The Goddess of Fate fell to neither God. She was killed by another, but managed to release her domain and her essence back into the world. So fate is no longer decided by the will of one above. Those left in the world determine their own fates, though they influence the fates of others.
About The Scourcing of Vedax was wrote:Morning dawned bright, and the General stood alone on the crest of the ridge overlooking the city that stretched peacefully beneath the first rays of the sun, as its citizens rose for the new day. Some, once soldiers of uKulwa, saw him silhouetted against the skyline, spear and shield in hand, and pointed, calling out to their companions.
Even as more people tumbled from their homes in response to the mounting cries, Dumisani swept forward his hands, as though throwing handfuls of maize down toward the city, and the slope of the ridge turned suddenly black, as the Impi rolled down its flanks in an unstoppable tide.
--From the Oral History of Khumbula, the Rememberer
Thus did Khumbula remember that day, from his vantage point above the city. But Khumbula merely watched. He did not go down among the people. From there, the view was quite different.
As the impi rolled down the flanks of the ridge above Vedax, the citizens turned and fled among the streets, panic pressing with flying feet, speeding their hope to escape the city and the vengeful impi of Dumisani, who brought down the wrath of Ulwazi, the Prophet King, and through him, uKulwa, their angry god.
They knew they had wronged him. And they realised now, too late, that He could tolerate their turning away from him no longer. His anger descending at speed, they turned and ran.
But those who had been soldiers in the past knew no hope. They recognised their doom upon them, and saw there was no escape. They knew the izimpondo zenkomo, the Horns of the Bull. And knew that what they saw before them was only its Head.
The Iqhawe Entathakusa regiment, the Warriors at Dawn, so fittingly named, as they poured over the ridge a thousand strong, with the dawn light at their backs, shadows on the dark ground of the yet unlit slope, the mostly white shields of the novice regiment barely lighter smudges as they raced barefoot and sure down the stony incline. These were the Head of the Bull. Racing at the enemy, eager to clash, to lock spears, to sow chaos and despair.
But those who had abandoned their impi knew that this was merely the beginning. Even as the head charged to engage, they could feel the tremor in the earth as the Horns ran wide.
The uKushazwa regiment, named Frostbite for their numbing sting, circling left, and uYisitha, He is the Enemy, swinging right. The half-white, half-black shields of the two thousand blooded warriors catching the sunrise as they quarter turned in perfect formation, once, then again, circling the city to ensure that none would escape, worrying the flanks of the fleeing people, and turning them back in amongst themselves. Cutting them down as they went, they’d run until the tips of the Horns met on the plain beyond the city, where making one final turn, they would begin to draw the circle tighter.
Assegais flashed as the broad blades drank the blood of the apostate and the earth beneath their feet became mud. And still the once-soldiers knew they had not yet seen all of the horror that would be theirs.
They knew that behind the ridge, out of sight of the slaughter, sat the Loins of the Bull. The thousand veterans of the umDingiswa regiment, the Exiles. Sitting on their all black shields, backs to the carnage with only their induna’s watching, gauging the moment to hurl forth the reserves.
But this was no true battle. No honourable enemy, no true danger. This was slaughter. The umDingiswa would not stir for some time. And when they did, they would saunter down the slope and pick their way across the killing field, spearing the wounded and making jokes about the prowess of the younger warriors, mocking their lack of finesse.
This was no battle. This was a massacre. This was the surgery that their people required to remain healthy. The pruning of the diseased branch. And so the assegais found backs more often than hearts. And the great shields divided the flow of the fleeing rather than fending off spears. The people of Vedax ran. And the impi ran with them.
All Things Begin and End in Strife.
------------------------------------ Msasi Haogopi Mwiba. The Hunter Does Not Fear Thorns
Far above Imray, the Lady of Light, Healing and Birth gazed with dismay upon the worn and fractured lands of Eiran, O-gon-cho’s heart breaking as she watched many of her brethren act with little concern for their mortal followers. She had returned from the Interdiction with such hope, and little by little that hope was being torn asunder.
Reaching out to Raucous’ mind, she drew comfort from his steadfastness. Yet, this time even that did not sooth her inner turmoil. She longed to flee and turn away; away from the pleas for Healing ascending to her from Eiran itself, as it cracked and fractured more and more. She feared the wrath of the Pantheon, should she choose to interfere with their destructive actions. And even if she so chose, she feared she was not powerful enough to counter the ongoing destruction. Certainly not alone, and none had ever expressed a willingness to aid her in such a challenge. She felt powerless…powerless!…to do what she believed needed to be done..
Even where she supposedly did have power, her efforts at attempting to use that power have proven fruitless again and again. Those she turned to for advice and wisdom told her they believed Eiran itself was doomed. If that was the case, why stay? Why watch everything she loves and cares about suffer in spite of all her efforts to prevent such? Why???
She recalled visiting the other realms she observed during the Interdiction, and wondered if she could bring herself to desert her home once again. The pain of separation would dull over time; perhaps eventually she would forget she ever called Immeril/Imray home…
Deep within her something stirred. Empowered by the pleas of her worshippers, it fought to find a voice:
“…no…” it whispered, as her thoughts lingered on seeking escape.
“…No…” it muttered, as she felt powerless at the thought of countering the damage wrought by her brethren. ”NO!!!” she shrieked, as she realized fleeing would mean an existence even more hopeless than what she felt now. Raucous had chosen to once again don the mantle of mortality, the gift bestowed upon him by Maeror discarded with their return to Eiran. He would choose to remain with The Nine; her ability to take those of her followers she could with her if she fled blocked by The AllFather himself.
Steeling her resolve, she fought down her instinct to flee. “You are a g-ddess!” she screamed at herself. “There is yet hope while life remains, and with Birth life is continuously renewed. The Light of each new day brings a fresh start which allows Healing to tackle the damage wrought. Should you flee your memory will be cursed; all that you love damning you for your cowardice. You…are…NEEDED…here!!!”
Her doubting nature recoiling back at the strength resounding from deep within her, she returned her gaze to contemplating the damage to Eiran. Her thoughts then pierce through Raucous’ defenses, instructing him where they should continue their ongoing Healing work. Determined to justify her followers belief and love for her, and to do everything she can to make them safe and prosperous, her redoubled efforts on their behalf forces her doubt to recede to a deep dark place within.
…until the morrow, when…
Far above Imray, the Lady of Light, Healing and Birth gazed with dismay upon the worn and fractured lands of Eiran, O-gon-cho’s heart breaking as she watched many of her brethren act with little concern for their mortal followers. She had returned from the Interdiction with such hope, and little by little that hope was being torn asunder…
Send your votes by PM to me. The largest vote getter will recieve my prize! I will forward the voting results to Xar so that he may sweeten the entrants and winners as he sees fit!!
Send me ideas for the next contest (and the prize that the idea submitter will give! ) and lets have another round as well!
Let's say votes and ideas by the 5th! (for those who want to know the exact time the 5th is over when I wake up on Sunday the 6th! )
There is still time to get ideas in. Here is one of mine. It looks like the RL has captured Xar for who knows how long ... so ... one possibility for a contest entry ... is for each submitter presenting their thoughts on the results based on Xar's hints to-date (I know there are not a lot of them! :p )
Now ... * drum roll please* ... by an overwhelming margin ... *pauses for dramatic effect* ... the winner is The Numen!!
Congratulations!!
And ... after studying all the suggestions for the next contest .... *that would be only one submitted - mine* I propose the following (duplicated for your ease of reference! ):
It looks like the RL continues to have Xar captured for who knows how long ... so ... one possibility for a contest entry ... is for each submitter presenting their thoughts on the results based on Xar's hints to-date (I know there are not a lot of them! :p )
This might be the only Turn results you see in a while! lol ... lets say all entries submmitted between now and 9/19 will be voted on. The prize - same as last (but for the turn AFTER the next - I don't have an unlimited supply of DRP ya know! )
they win automatically. If there are no posts, someone else can figure out what we can do while we wait for Turn results! 
