#aatos

(Aatos starts his turn with 4d6 + 5 (starting bonus) -> 2,3,4,2+5 = 16 power.)

The once-still heavens churned and split as the meteor hurtled toward the then-quiescent world of Akhu, streaking across the primordial sky like the edge of a keen-edged blade. As it plunged deep into the thawing earth it left behind a horizon sundered, rent by dust and fire and ash, and a flooding wound-crater soon veiled by lightning and smoke.

Whether born from the ruptured sky and carried deep below, the meteor purified within the heat of the crucible-heart, or the process itself—that runaway apotheogenesis catalyzing beneath the surface—the Emex-cast seed-stone took root within Akhu, and an eon would pass before it would sprout. In the years leading up to it, the land quaked, at first rare but then more frequently. Ash-choked air spit from fissures as the land cracked and buckled, upheaving slowly to form a vast peak, and, as if drawn there by some force, spirits gathered and danced upon its rising slopes in reverent anticipation.

Aatos emerged in a paroxysm, the summit cloven from within. The nascent god was made of purest silver flowing like vitellus from a shattered egg, sublimating and reforming as He moved. The host of spirits followed in His wake, portioned by His will and sent to their proper places, as He stirred the land to rise and partition this unpleasantly undivided world.

Sylvia snickered softly at the line.

foR @blackberreh‘s BIRTHDAY 

ALL OF OUR PRECIOUS INKY BBYS ;DD

(Aatos starts his turn with 2d6 + 4 (leftover) + 1 (rebate) -> 4,4+5 = 13 power.)

For an eon Aatos continued to divide his host until a tenth of the spirits that originally danced were swept along in his wake. When he came upon the Tolinakka, he was displeased. Their homes were made of wood and earth, their walls low and easily-felled, their settlements diffuse and permeable; and worst of all was the City and its denizens. Something had to be done.

Create Order (-8): From the forges and kilns came whispers.

They were borne from the wood as it split and reduced, from the striking of the hammer as it bent and sharpened, from the body itself as it buckled and seared. It beckoned them closer, to place their hands within the flame and take its Heart unto themselves, and to share this secret only with the worthiest among them.

This voice would be known as the Forge's Heart to the unnamed mystery cult that would follow. Its members were any who stoked fires and reshaped the inanimate: potters, smiths, even the most ambitious charcoal makers. Initiated by apprenticeship, the masters of this order were said to have heard the Voice itself and tempered their hands within -- while the foolish and deceitful would simply burn, the fire would not harm the chosen, the edges of their carapace rendered silver by the flames.

Corrupt City (-3): The City stands united and its doors wide open. This cannot be.

At its zenith, when the shadows are most shallow and coil the closest, a celebrant is pushed from a terrace. They are dashed by a rooftop scattered in a square below, divided thrice. The festivities cease, and a scream is followed by a cold feeling that ripples through the crowd, unstifled by the searing sun.

How? A traitor? Who let this enemy in? Guilt undiscovered, justice never found. In the vacancy flooded paranoia and doubt; hesitation where there was once uninhibited indulgence, cries to close the gates in where there was once welcomes and ecstasy. An undercurrent of paranoia would grip the City from then on.