The Blade of Arandus Character Intro:
Arandus Solandusiir, God of War, Fortune and Thieves, 1st King of Siros
“I want to show you what happened the day Arandus snuck into Oru’kai and stole a branch to complete the great axe he forged, nazul,” Jorr said. “I will show you here.”
She waved her hand, and the air in front of them started to turn in on itself. The leaves dulled in color and the sky glowed any eerie grey.
In front of them, instantly, was Jorr. She was mounted atop a huge green elk covered in moss and mushrooms. Luwyn faintly recognized it from her camp. Jorr looked young and less worn. The white of her skin shone like moonlight and her emerald eyes glinted with anger. She had a huge, knocked arrow aimed at Arandus.
This was no statue, no painting or drawing. This was what Luwyn’s ancestor looked like and he took all of him in. Luwyn first noticed how beautiful he was. His appearance didn’t differ much from the statue in his temple or in Siros; his golden skin shimmered in the faint light. His curls bounced like gold chain links whenever he spoke. His eyes were like pools of amber and his jaw was strong and square. Though he knelt before Jorr, Luwyn could tell that Arandus was much larger than her, and maybe two heads taller. His muscles bulged in thick straps under a gold and bronze leather tunic. He was clad in heavy gold boots and gold tights; a casual outfit, not suited for battle. A dozen arrows with red tips stuck out from all over his body. His golden blood trickled down and stained the grass.
“Having the same enemy doesn’t make us friends, allies or comrades,” the past Jorr said, annoyed. Her huge green eyes were dim and peered down at Arandus with an incredible amount of disinterest. Her mount shifted beneath her.
Arandus shuffled his foot. “Jorr—sister—your brothers and I need your help. We must find a home. Should I remind you whose father it was that killed our father, took our home at Orthu and took our own mother as his prize?”
Jorr’s eyes flashed with anger. “We’re only have siblings.”
Arandus continued, “Oni. The Void, The Ursuper, Isanisarnath, masquerading as the Sun. Your father. You know that he raped her, our mother. I’m not sure if that is how you came about, little sister, but Bulugoba, definitely—”
“Enough!” Jorr interrupted. With a wave of her hand, her elk thrusted her sharp, foliage ridden antlers at Arandus’s throat. “You do not speak of my mother that way. You do not speak of Oni here. Not in this forest, not in any.”
“Anwe was my mother first, and will always be,” Arandus barked, though he stayed eerily calm. “Don’t you know that I am chiseled from gold, sister? You can never really cut me.”
His shoulder began to shake and writhe, the divine bones shifting underneath his golden skin. Arandus looked Jorr in her eyes as a solid gold hilt jutted from somewhere near his neck. Arandus grasped the handle and pulled until a giant, solid gold axe appeared. The blade was as large as his head and had a wicked curve. Nazul. The arrows popped out of his body and his wounds healed instantly. Arandus stretched his large muscles and swung nazul around, extending it towards Jorr.
“I am Arandus Solandusiir, the god of war and bounty and fortune, eldest son of the old god Solandus, Isanisaris, the real Sun. You cannot fight me and win, Huntress, especially not while I wield nazul. You will not stop me. I will cut down every forest, ravage every plane, and drain every ocean to make a home for my brothers and I if I must. But I do not want to. Spawn of Oni or not, you are still a child of Anwe. And you hate your father as much as I do. Help me, sister. Do not fight me.”
Jorr waved her hand again and the elk relaxed. She ran her long fingers across her bald, moss covered head, and shot Arandus a challenging, inquisitive glare.
“Arandus reminded me of her, faintly,” present Jorr said to Luwyn. “My mother, Anwe. Supplant her pale, white gold hair with his gold laden curls and she could very clearing see the resemblance. But in the end, Arandus shared a face with the old god I’ve never met, his father.”
“We all look like our fathers, in some way, don’t we?” present Jorr asked no one in the god-tongue, staring at the imagine thoughtfully.
Luwyn looked back to the past Arandus and Jorr.
Arandus lowered nazul slowly, and planted its hilt into the ground. “We cannot do this alone. I made this weapon to defeat Oni, which means through it, you will have also be responsible for bringing the Usurper to his demise. Help us, please.”
The image faded away and Jorr turned to Luwyn.
“I let him have the branch, partly because he already took it. But mostly, because I knew it was the right thing to do. I hate Oni,” Jorr said, her voice shaking. “I hate that I have no choice but to think of him as my father. Do you know why Jorr the Huntress is bald? I saw my father too much in that black hair I was born with. So I cut it.” She rubbed her hand over her smooth, shiny head.
“I wanted Arandus to strike him down. I prayed to my mother for it. They day I heard that Arandus had fallen, was the only day I have cried in this long life. I felt like I let him down. Should I have picked a better branch? Should I have left this damned forest to aid him in battle? I will never know. But I do know that I can help you. I will stand by your side on the battlefield if you would have me.”
She knelt down so that their faces were close. “I need you now, Luwyn Arandus.”
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