##Fanwork Wordcount 943
You Do not want a Piece of UNCLE! He is busy Reminiscing!
It had been a long time since Uncle Pan had felt this way. Years, centuries, more than a millennium in fact. Not since the Solars walked creation in their terrible glory had he been as strong as he was now. He had been mighty then. A great warrior, trained in the ways of fist and foot, of weapon and essence, a true god and master of the Celestial Martial Arts. He'd even won the Sonorous Discussion once upon a time before he'd grown disillusioned with it and the price it had required.
Things hadn't begun that way of course. In the Age of Glory he'd been born a minor god, one who's purview was a particular operatic music hall in a small city. That had ended when Lethos had squashed the city flat. There had been some ragged survivors, but they had no need for a musical god. It was just another part of the Age of Glory, and the casual thoughtless destruction wrought by the Primordials. He had been bound from acting against them as surely as any of his greater peers and so there was little he could do. Or so he thought.
Once the Dawn War had begun in earnest he had realized that things were not so cut and dried. The greatest of the gods had figured out a way around the Primordials' Geas and struck back. He could do the same. And he did. He trained himself ferociously, learning the new born martial arts that the Exalted Host developed to fight the Primordials. He could not fight them or their Daevas himself, but he could pass on that knowledge to new-born Exalted when their fellows fell. In this small way he helped to contribute to the end of the chaos of the Age of Glory and was content.
For many years he had continued on, his willingness to fight against the Primordials in his own way had allowed him a position of comfort in the new order. He had developed a passion for the martial arts, for the interplay between his own essence and that of the world around him. He had focused on it to the exclusion of all else, and in time it was that passion that betrayed him.
He had been there the day that the Sidereal Aumin of the True Heart had offered his poisoned gift. Four new martial arts, one for each virtue that stood at the foundation of all of Creation. In exchange, the gods he gifted them to would turn their eyes aside from the plans of the Five Score Fellowship, and allow the Sidereal Exalted to act unhindered.
He had agreed of course, the chance for new knowledge and new martial arts of such mystic nature was too great not to. When he learned what the Sidereals planned he had been horrified. It had been as an ally to the Solars that he had made himself anew, and to see them struck down from the least to the mightiest was a harsh blow. It was then that the seed of bitterness had taken root in his heart of hearts.
With the Solars gone, and the Dragonblooded ascendent there was a new order to Creation. Over time those he owed favors to and who owed him favors were phased out or otherwise removed from power. He had no will to fight it. What was the point? Instead he had turned inward and begun to grow in bitterness.
As the Age of Sorrows passed Uncle Pan had become a shell of his former self. Reduced to the god of bread of a single admittedly large city he had not cared for the future. He treated all he met with similar contempt and general grumpiness, his once great spirit largely broken and the embers of its fires almost spent. Then something unexpected had happened.
Odyssial had returned.
It was impossible not to recognize the sword the young man bore or the face that had once belonged to the Most High. His bearing was the same, his comportment unchanged despite the passing of centuries. Somehow, the most powerful Solar to ever walk Creation lived once more. And he wanted a competent god to be Father to the city he was now responsible for.
The fury of Odyssial was no small thing. The usual backbiting politics had been put aside, the pointless power plays left unfought, and the entire spiritual population of Luseng had quaked with fear. Or so it seemed to Uncle Pan. All that is, save for Uncle himself. He knew what this meant. It was something he had not expected ever to have.
Another chance.
By hook and by crook he had ended up the new City Father, and Odyssial had proven his memory true by applying the great prayers of the past once more. Uncle's strength had grown and his skill as well. He began to work himself to the bone, and admonished and encouraged his new subordinates to do likewise. They could now make up for the shameful actions of the past, and properly perform their duties for one who bore the Mandate of Heaven once again.
Uncle Pan would not be found wanting again, even in the face of Oblivion. He would meet all of his responsibilities with the fullness of his competence and experience. He would serve as he should always have, fight, teach, and lead as he had not for centuries. Perhaps this would make things right. And if it did not, then he was old and almost bent with years. At least as starmetal he would be of some use to the Creation he had failed.
Author's Note: Here you go, I hope it entertains and amuses. Or is at least acceptable despite the whole 3rd edition thing about which I know nothing.
