Arandus, God of War & Rossu, God of Peace

Arandus gripped his axe, Nazul. It’s golden eye peeked up at him through cracks in the bark near the blade. A slab of gold from the sun, bathed in the light of his mother, the moon. Arandus forged it just as his father had forged him so long ago. In his rage, Arandus named the axe Nazul, or “Wrath”. That was the beginning of this war. He didn’t feel so wrathful right now, just tired.

Arandus looked to his cousin. Rossu stood next to him, his chest rose and fell steadily. His crimson red hair and skin glistened with divine sweat, his armor peeled away, and his arms and shoulder bare. He held his giant saber in his hands. The blade was huge, as wide as the god’s muscled leg, and longer than he was tall. The metal gleamed scarlet, forged from the innards of a volcano, and bathed in the magma. He named it Efir o’Rossu, “Rossu’s Fire.”

Arandus remembered a time when they were young gods, hair barely on their chins, batting together in the name of justice. There was the rare occasion when peace god Rossu, would clean up the squabbles his war god cousin would start. Now they stood together on the battlefield that might be their last.

Arandus sighed. He missed his home in the heavens, Orthu, and his brothers. His family. Each night, he looked up into the sky and stared at his mother until morning.

“Rossu.”

The Red God grunted a response.

“How many times have we done this?”

Rossu blinked, a clear sign that he was thinking, quite deeply. “Somewhere around five billion, seventeen thousand, three hundred and fifty five. Plus that skirmish with my mother.” He shivered.

Arandus bellowed laughter, the hearty sound echoed across the field. “Leave it to the son of the Sofos the Wise to remember all of our battles, to fear of Rosiag, Torturer of Souls.” He paused.

The horde of vile monsters of the Void waited across the battlefield. They slashed their claws and flashed vicious fangs at Arandus and Rossu, eyes burning with black fire. Their hideous shadowy bodies writhed and hummed with anger. They stood around Oni, several times even the old god’s size, who towered over his nephews. He held a hand in the air, holding his army in place.

Oni’s black mane flowed in the wind, his ruddy grey skin glistening with his power stolen from the sun. His armor was black and gold, emblazoned with runes exclaiming his grace and strength. Oni twirled his spear in his other hand, the golden blade long and wicked. Arandus huffed and glared into his uncle’s onyx eyes.

Arandus chuckled. “We may die here today, Cousin,” he said. Rossu nodded. The God of Peace was never wasteful with his words.

“Shall we make it worth it?”

Rossu nodded again. He swung Efir around his head and slammed it into the ground. The earth separated at his feat, magma bubbling to the surface. The magma rose and morphed, and dryed into the shape of red molten rock warriors, each equipped with swords and axes, maces and spears. They let out guttural sounds that boomed across the field, then charged, hooping and flaying their weapons.

Oni raised his spear, gesturing for his monsters to charge in return, a devilish wrapped grin across his face.

Arandus took a deep breath, then he and Rossu lunged, weapons raised high. They let out a battle cry and crashed through the army of monsters, moving for Oni.

“You took my father from me,” Arandus yelled, sliding underneath a large wolf shaped creature, slashing the length of its belly with his axe. “You took my mother, my home.”

Arandus hopped up and spun, slicing off the head of a tall shadowy figure behind him. He grabbed the limp body and slammed it into another monster. He hacked at the ground, and Nazul’s blade gouged into the soil. He propelled himself through the frey, his eyes locked into Oni.

“For that, Oni, you will feel my wrath!”

this is the roughest sketch ever, but this is how I picture Nazul, the mythical axe forged and wielded by Luwyn’s ancestor and the God of War, Arandus.

The Story of Iassa

(told by Fila, to Luwyn)

“You know,” Luwyn started. “Your magic is beautiful and incredible. A bit scary sometimes, but beautiful nonetheless. How do you do all of those amazing things? Controlling the mud and dirt, creating a prophecy out of demonic rotten hair and bear claws and green fire, healing me and yourself. How do you do it?”

Fila shrugged. “It’s beyond my comprehension. I am gifted and blessed and I do not take this gift for granted. I appreciate my power, so maybe it just appreciates me back,” she replied with a giggled. Luwyn chuckled back.

Fila stared blankly into the distance for a moment, then asked, “Would you like to hear how magic came about? The true origin of all the magic in the world?”

Luwyn quickly sat up so that Fila’s head was in his lap and he looked down at her. “Go for it,” he said, truly intrigued.

“Ok, ok. Long ago there was a god named Iassa. He was the third of the old sun god, Solandus’s, four sons. You know of his brothers, Arandus, Torsu...”

Luwyn nodded quickly. “And Luwyn. I’m named for him, apparently.”

Fila’s eyes opened wide. “Interesting! Anyway, Iassa was a trickster god, and enjoyed mischief and games. After Solandus was cut down, and his sons chased out of the heavens, Iassa grew cynical and closed off from the world, even his brothers. Iassa eventually left his kin, and travelled the world alone.”

“During his travels, he learned to apply his power and condense it, and channel it through words and movements. Iassa learned that he could harness the power of the old gods, the elements themselves and much more. He labeled this new power mak’ia. Overtime, Iassa recorded and collected his many, many accomplishments and findings into thousands of grimoires. Eventually, mankind caught wind of Iassa’s research and sought offer his guidance. At first, Iassa refused, but after he met a beautiful woman named Osera, he gave in and taught her and many others mak’ia. Iassa has to give a little bit of his power, a bit of himself every time he taught someone mak’ia. It drained him, but at the same time, it fulfilled him. Iassa loved giving himself and helping others with his power and enlightening others. The more he gave of himself, the more it diluted his divinity and immortality.”

“And then what?” Luwyn asked.

“Then, he became mortal,” Fila said, shrugging.

“His life was long, longer than any natural mortal being, but he sacrificed it for his passion. He met the love of his life through mak’ia and created a purpose for himself. When Iassa died, his body faded into mist and it sparked into every crack in the earth, every wind current and wave and some living creatures. Through mak’ia, Iassa is responsible for all of the mystical, wonderous and terrifying creatures and beasts that walk the earth, like dragons and demons and elves and ogres. It was passed down and inherited, mutated nature and created beautiful and terrifying and mystical things and became what we now call magic.”

“So,” Luwyn started, pondering. “Magic is just Iassa’s life force?”

Fila laughed and sat up, making it hard for Luwyn to look her in the eye. “In layman's terms, yes.”

She rolled off of the bed and strolled across the room. She barely pulled on her robes, so that her bare torso was fully exposed and grabbed a large package next to the doorway. It was wrapped in canvas and twine.

“Here is your meat,” Fila chimed. “It would be best if you go now, though. I have more work to do and must be left alone.”

Luwyn was surprised by her shortness. He crawled to edge of the bed and grabbed her hand. “What do you mean? You don’t want me to stay?”

“Not particularly, no,” Fila replied, a small smile still on her face.

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Jorr, Goddess of the Hunt and Guardian of Oru’kai

The mud marionettes stopped battling and felt back to the ground. Fila was panting as soon as she finished her story.

Garu clapped sarcastically. “That was wonderful—oof!”

An arrow zipped through the air and nailed Garu in his shoulder so hard he flew back. The arrow was large and made of dark, burgundy wood, with a purple stone arrowhead. Blood ran down Garu’s arm and he tried to stand, but the right side of his body was completely limp. His eyelid sagged shut and the corner of his mouth hung. His arm and leg were useless noodles and he struggled to hold himself up. He tried to speak but his voice came out in gurgles and grunts.

Another arrow struck Fila in her thigh, this time with a blue arrowhead. Fila waited for herself to go limp, but it never happened. A spell snapped from her lips and she waved her hand their attacker’s direction. Nothing happened. She tried another spell and hand movement, and still nothing worked. Fila looked back at Luwyn, her eyes wide and frantic with fear.

“My magic is gone!” she wailed, tears falling down her cheeks.

An arrow flew by Luwyn’s ear, but he ducked and rolled down a small hill, out of the way. He stood and crawled back up the ridge to see someone looming over Garu and Fila.

He couldn’t tell if it were a man or woman; they were bald and their facial features were severe, yet soft and beautiful. They were inhumanly tall and, nearly twice Luwyn’s height and their body wrapped with thin muscle. They wore layers of green and brown furs and leaves and their dazzling, marble white face was hooded and painted with mud and moss. They used a log strapped to their back as a quiver and carried a bundle of human length arrows. The attacker knelt down and examined them. They ripped the arrows from Garu and Fila’s flesh, and threw a large net made of vines over them.

“I am Jorr, the Huntress,” she said. “You are trespassing on hallowed and scared land.” Jorr’s voice was booming and mesmerizing. She sniffed and looked it into the trees.

“There is a third,” Jorr said finally. “I will return for you! You have no business being here. You may try to retrieve your friends, but god’s help you if you do.” Jorr galloped into the trees and disappeared.

Luwyn hopped out of his hiding space and drew his dagger.

“I’ll cut you free,” he said. But every time he managed to break the surprisingly tough vine, it sewed itself back together. There was a loud whistle that echoed through the forest. The long vine at the end of the net started to reel in, until it pulled taut and the net tightened around Garu and Fila and they were dragged away into the forest.

Luwyn tried to keep up with them, but whatever was pulling them went at speeds he couldn’t think of keeping up with. He peered past the net and saw the bald attacker riding away on what looked like a giant green elk, but he wasn’t sure, it was too dark.

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