[X] Plan: Gifts, More Gifts and blessing
-[X] Wine and gifts
The Caretaker had given them a clear vision, to not use his compassion as a tool for pain or conquest. None would be put to the sword for their upbringing, just as none could be expected to be true in their faith with a blade to their neck.
Instead one must show his bounty to the uninitiated, allow them to see what their diety offered to those who knelt in the pursuit of a greater future. This technique was not greatly effective, however converts did indeed trickle in over time. What mattered was that none were alienated, that the souls of the faithful were not made dirty by dishonorable action.
Many religions persecuted and cut down those outside their number, clear lines drawn in the sand that divided the people of the known world. To have a faith that did no such thing, it was an oddity. The doubtful could come into the presence of a temple, to feel the embrace of the Caretaker and let loose a sigh of relief.
-[X] blacksmith
In this age of acceptance and knowledge, with the scholars of the land having brought great advancements to their people, it came naturally that the craftsmen would do their part. Blacksmiths forged many grand tools with their skills, honing their craft in the pursuit of bettering themselves and those around them. Such was their vigor in this age that many agreed the Caretaker held a special place in his heart for those who used their hands for creation.
'It is easy to destroy, for it is a base impulse. It may take a second to knock over stones that took hours to pile up, yet it is the one who stacked them that always gains the most.'
So it came to be that the devoted would craft many symbols of their faith, whether in the form of a humble talisman or in the creation of a large statue built in their gods likeness. Many debated what form their diety took on, or if they even had a form simaler to that of a mortal. Yet one great mason built a statue over a period of years, recruiting his sons and those willing to aid him. It was a great work, one that for many put the arguments to an end. For the form of the statue was indeed grand, in the shape of-
[ ] The humble - A robed figure who's face cannot be seen, it's arms stretched out in preparation for an embrace.
[ ] The maker - A shirtless man holding a hammer of the forge, his face eager.
[ ] The watcher - A man wearing simple clothes, with an intense stare on his face. In his hands are a tome to record the deeds of the righteous and a spear to strike down the vile.
[ ] Write in:
Of course, this was merely in the center of the known world, on the outskirts and far off lands, other events occurred...
In the flat fields of Mongolia, a great wave of spiritual upheaval had begun. An entire village had claimed to witness a battle of gods, which lasted for hours and shook the heavens.
Many wandered to the site of the battle, seeing great patches of ground burnt to ash, filled with deep gouges, or simply not there anymore. In a mighty crater, a peasant found a shard of metal that could not be bent or broken by any means. It became widely believed this was a scale, a piece of the dragon that had shed during the battle.
This scale would be placed within a shrine, not to worship it, but as a symbol of might for a different diety. The fist of the stars, the hand of a god which had come down from the heavens to bring low the beast that had wanted to consume them. Worship of the Bright-Hand spread throughout the region, with many becoming monks and training themselves in the art of defense. No bandit or raider would dare make a strike within the steppe, for they knew they would be beaten by the warriors who sought to emulate their diety by striking those that would harm the innocent.
You looked upon these warrior-monks, saw their devotion, and felt odd. They did indeed pray to you, yet for the first time it went into an aspect you had never felt before. They wished for hope yes, but these people asked for strength of arms, for the ability to strike down their foes.
You did not know how to feel about this, however in the end you elected to-
[ ] Encourage them
[ ] Dissuade them
Asger felt at odds with himself many times, though his emotional state was rarely simple in the first place. He watched waves fall upon the rocky shore, the view from the cliffside being one many would agree to be beautiful. The sun gently set in the distance casting a vibrant glow onto the sea, while a grove nearby had leaves that swayed in the breeze.
He had sat in this exact spot countless times, though the view was always a bit different...he would say he enjoyed this version at the very least.
His first true time on this cliff was arguably much worse, a boy fleeing a burning village while pillagers chased after him. He'd had much less time to enjoy the view then, only a couple seconds as he fell after being shoved off.
Time did not slow down as he neared death like he'd heard in stories, instead he believed that it just sped up for him alone. It was not much of a life worth looking over to be honest, a boy of twelve years who did nothing of Interest until they died running like a coward. The last emotion he felt before he hit the rocks was shame, he saw the disappointed eyes of his family before all became darkness.
Then, as quickly as it had come, it went away. He gasped on a beach shore, cold from the wind and from the sea water that had reached his legs due to the high tide. He spent what felt like an hour terrified of what had occurred, believing this was some sort of underworld and he was to be eternally punished.
Yet as he stood up and looked around, his thoughts a tad clearer, he realized he knew exactly where he was. That was the day he stumbled back to his village, only to find a pit of husks and ashes that was already being reclaimed by nature.
That was the day, a thousand years ago.
He could live no normal life after that, eventually his body didn't grow gray from age and he knew then that he truly couldn't die. Every time he attempted to settle down he would be forced to leave after a decade or two, people growing suspicious of his lack of change and viewing him as a witch that needed expelled.
Sometimes he felt as though he'd gone mad, before taking matters into his own hands...
Yes...he'd visited this cliff many times, was the one to plant the grove in the hopes the next visit would be more pleasant. The view unfortunately, was always soiled by the aftermath. He always felt this futile hope that *this* would be the one, the final gaze at the sunset before he journeyed into his own twilight.
A cynical part of him whispered that it was just a hobby at this point, a little tradition he used to pretend that he was all still there.
Then there was the smallest voice, so tiny it could just barely be heard. It told him that he should enjoy the view and be done, to push things back a bit further. When one had all the time in the world, what was the rush to die?
He scoffed, before he stared at the stars above. He'd taken solace in them at one point, companions he could rely on in the darkest times.
Then one day he watched one of the lights burn out...and that was that.
Tears fell onto the dirt, though it was honestly more instinctual at this point. There wasn't much of an alternative at this point was there? What was he to do, try to ingrate himself with his descendents just to have to leave then eventually as well?
No, he decided...and then he quit procrastinating. He slowly stood up from his spot, before walking to the edge and gazing downwards. The rocks he remembered had eroded fully around two hundred years ago, ever since then he'd really just had to rely on getting the angle right.
He let out a deep breath, closed his eyes, and st-
"Hello there." A voice broke his peace, causing him to freeze with both feet still on solid ground. Nobody had ever found him here before, he felt excitement at the novelty but also revulsion that somebody had intruded upon his space. He slowly turned around to face the stranger, his brows creased in confusion.
The man that stood before him was odd, simply in just how basic he looked. Tanned skin, long raven black hair, he was clearly from the southlands and yet appeared so average he doubted he could pick him out from a crowd if he tried.
He spoke up with agitation, displeased to have been interrupted. "Why do you come here stranger? I have nothing to offer you."
The man replied in a simple tone. "I merely wanted to warn you to not get to close to the edge, you seemed like you were close to tripping."
He felt his face flush from anger, quickly replying. "It's none of your business what I do, danger or no!"
The man then chuckled, bringing more anger to Asger, yet his next words replaced rage with worry. "I suppose not, but it would be inconvenient to have to return after you woke up again..."
Asger paused, his mouth going dry as he thought on the implications this conversation suddenly brought. "Who...what are you?" Now that he looked closer, his senses picked up an unsettling feeling, the hair on his skin standing up on end.
The man stared at him for a moment, before taking off his robe. Suddenly Asger was blinded, stumbling back before remembering where he was just standing. Right before he could fall to his not-death however, a large arm grasped him and held him aloft. He stared in awe at the man, who was now transformed. Their voice, booming as it was, still had that same neutral tone.
"I am Neoth...and there is much work to be done."
AN: Oof, sorry for the wait gang, life does what life wants sometimes. I can't say that there won't be gaps like this, but I promise you I will never simply stop this story without reasonable explanation.
There was also a small heaping of writers block when it came to the narrative section, the first alternative pov and all that.
Happy reading.