Giantson of Ephias
Interactions: Juju Fluffykitty9000 Solirus
Interactions: Juju Fluffykitty9000 Solirus
They said something… a cryptic message. Sinidarr did not seek destruction, nor did he wait for whatever a spring was. The stag moved again, creating a dozen floating blossoms, identical to the blooming flowers but much smaller. Seeds, swiftly floating before him when the stag spoke again.
"Storms may yet spread seeds, if one takes heart to ride the wind."
Was that who he was? Sinidarr, Spreader of Seeds?
The stag began to run again. Now was his chance to say something, to stop them, to get answers. A million different words flooded his mind at once. Which would he say? How could he convince them to stay? He needed to say something, anything. Sinidarr opened his mouth, but instead of words, he released an ear-splitting thundercrack that sent a surge of lightning through the storm. It was too late. The stag was gone.
Sinidarr lifted himself back into the storm proper just as a fluffy white cloud slapped him in the face. This was no cloud of his, this was an assault. Sinidarr took the cloud in one talon and crystalised it into a spear of ice. His eyes scanned the sky for his assailant. High above, nestled in a nook of the topmost clouds was a bed. He raised the spear, ready to throw, ready to teach them the meaning of an enemy. That’s when he stopped. Another vision filled his mind… a vision of beds: Furniture for resting, for relaxation. Was this not an assault? Maybe his storm had disturbed them. Maybe they only sought rest. It was another god; he was sure of it. But they obviously did not want to be disturbed. Sinidarr dropped the ice to be swallowed up by the ocean below.
These wings made too much noise. Sinidarr concentrated on spreading his wings as wide as he could, the space between feathers filled with dark clouds. That gave him an idea. Sinidarr closed his eyes and spread his entire body as wide as the storm, the feathers disappearing to be replaced with more clouds. When he tried opening his eyes, he found nothing. He had only a sense of direction and an innate knowledge of the area. He willed himself forward and felt the clouds roll in the same direction. He was the storm.
A vast raincloud spread from shore to land, the dozen seeds still swirling in the wind. One seed it dropped in a bay, the divine rain blossoming it as it sunk into the sea floor. It would protect this place and keep it stable for the generations that would find it. The clouds moved again, this time hovering over a mountain range. There were creatures here. Not gods, not plants, something new. They moved around, climbing up and down the mountain range, with no idea of the vast and incomprehensible power the gods had by comparison. He dropped another blossom, landing in a deep ravine where the snow melted to rain. These curious little beings would be safe around it, or at least Sinidarr hoped so.
Sinidarr sighed a deep rumble. He had so many questions but so many things he wanted to do. But he also felt this primal drive for life. Some deep part of him had connected to those feline beings and he knew he would make more of them. But how could he do both of these at once? As he struggled with the concept, a vision rippled into his mind. Not another flash of knowledge, but a longer one. A double vision, even. He saw a being floating in the air. Two arms clutched a book, with legs that swirled into mist. Sinidarr did not know this person, but they must have been a god. This area was saturated with divine presence. Sinidarr focused himself, prepared a mouth that didn’t exist, and spoke.
From Unry’s perspective, it began to rain, and in the raincloud there came a spark of light. With it came a deep, distant roll of thunder that sounded almost like words…
“ E x c u s e. . .m e . ”
The voice paused.
“ W h a t. . .i s. . .a. . .g o d ? ”
Sinidarr’s original cloudy form floated across the land, finding a low craggy mountain range that felt right in a way he couldn't quite explain. If he was going to create non-gods… mortals, a vision named them, he needed them to be his own. They would be different from the catfolk, and he would ensure they had all the protection they needed.
Sinidarr felt the earth and rock far below him. Too far below him. If he wanted to make mortals, he would need to bring them closer. Many other gods had done wonderous things; the land, the sea, the stars. All done by Sinidarr’s equals. If he was truly a god, now was his chance to prove it. Sinidarr willed the ground closer, and it came. Crackling with electricity, pillars of rock erupted from the earth and shot up, coming to a stop just before cloud cover. Others went higher, barely penetrating the clouds, the cosmos in clear view above.
Now for the tricky part. Sinidarr focused on the stars high above, of the great ball of rocks orbiting opposite the ball of fire. This was pure creation. This was what it meant to be a god. This is what he was meant to do. A mote materialised within the storm, a single blue orb of energy. Sinidarr willed it lower, onto one of these pillars of grass and rock. He thought of the sea creatures lurking in the deep sea. Running a mental hand through the mote he sent a gust of primordial, divine wind through it, the mote billowing and spawning dozens more like it. He thought of the mortals; the Sylvin, the Coria, the Memuor, the Angels, he had no faces to these names but knew what they meant. Tilune. Yes, that word felt right. A rush of pride and crippling fear came over Sinidarr. Wind whipped the rain in all directions as the Tilune stumbled about. These were mortals! What did they need? What do they do? What were other mortals doing? More flashes filled his mind. Eat. Yes. Procreate. Yes. Die— no! If Sinidarr was going to create mortals, they would not die so easily! Another gust of wind would fix this. Sinidarr sent a gale that knocked some of them flat and others right off the pillar. For a second Sinidarr’s heart plummeted as fast as the Tilune did, only for a thin membrane to come from their arms and slow their fall. The Tilune instinctually glided back to the pillar edge, and with Storm-blessed legs they quickly climbed back up to the top. Sinidarr breathed a sigh of relief. They would be safe.
The rest was simple work: blessed rain droplets grew fresh food, blueberries, figs, water-hyssop. More motes of creation stretched into other beasts. Long skyeels that slithered and flew through the sky, hunting smaller birds that fed on the rodents. The skyeels dared not go near the mountain goats, though, as their thick hides and muscular build made short work of predators. The goats’ otherwise docile nature made them perfect beasts of burden for the growing patches of crops. This place was growing nicely, the Tilune had fashioned spears and now took to the skies to hunt skyeels before gliding back to the edge and returning with their prize. They had even spread to another pillar, their population growing slowly but growing nonetheless. Sinidarr spent more time than he’d care to admit watching them, without the eyes of his avatar, he felt their presence in the air and their emotions on the wind. They were beings of life he could call his own. That is if life could truly belong to anyone. Who was to say if gods could treat mortals, who clearly thought independently and felt emotion, as if they were property.
Sinidarr put these thoughts aside for the time being, he would rather watch the Tilune grow in this place… this place that needed a name. Gladwe. Home of the Tilune, Children of the Storm. Home of Sinidarr, Spreader of Seeds. Home.