#we piggybacked on Arukh's trip home

[sentryandco]

Prompt 16: Deiform

Arasen had always been fascinated by religion. As a child, his belief in Azim and Nhaama was unwavering, and while the history of war between the Dawn Father and the Dusk Mother were glorified by Kharlu and Junghid into justifying their warring way of life, Arasen was far more invested in the story of the love that existed between the two deities.

It was said that even though they waged a fierce battle against each other, the seed of love was still able to bloom and grow on the war-torn field. And it was looking upon the faces of their children that the Father and the Mother returned to the heavens, bequeathing the fate of the land onto the xaela.

For Arasen, their children had forgotten the vow of peace that was struck between their creators, for strife and contest were the way of life in the Steppe. The only thing that still recalled that first promise, were the flowers that bloomed in the oldest ruin upon the land. Its petals still remembered the light and the warmth of the Father and the quiet tranquility and embrace of the Mother. 

So when he was old enough to travel across the seas, and learned of The Twelve, and the kami, and the Primals that answered the prayers of beastial tribes, Arasen wondered if there were as many gods as there were stars in the sky. Did they exist alongside the Dawn Father and the Dusk Mother? And if so, did they also watch their children suffer and struggle from their distant seat in the heavens? Did they answer their prayers?

Learning of the possible destruction that a god could wrought, summoned by the desperate supplications of believers, Arasen had no doubt, some did answer, and violently so.

So then what of the sacrifice that appeased them? What of the lore of the Lost Daughter? If invocations born of anguish and fear could call forth a divine power, could the offering of a pure heart and soul also do the same?

It was due to his own devotion, his obsession with bringing peace to the Steppe, that he had believed the latter could be true. But now, aftering seeing all that had transpired within the bowels of earth more ancient than he could ever imagine, his certainty in the matter was no longer born of need. He had seen with his own eyes what an offer of love and kindness at the cost of one’s own could achieve.

He should be more certain than ever to resume his previous course. All he had witnessed only confirmed the presumed end.

But Arasen was now wholly committed to another path. To prevent the need of such an oblation. The Steppe was full of stories of loss. Smaller tribes giving up their youths in exchange for protection, offering up their precious women as brides for alliance. He had come to know the individuals that were otherwise seen as commodities, and each one of them were far better than he.

As Arasen watched from a distance a taller figure standing at the cliff’s bluff, he wondered idly where the two women were now; his cousin and the Mankhad. Both of whom had every right to demand his end, but instead forgave him for what he did to them. A promise given to the latter had him and his warden traveling to the coast, accompanying her brother.

And here, Arasen discovered yet another star that shone above alongside Dusk Mother. The Shuurga had their own deity that presided over the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below.

Knowing the possible miracles that the Lost Daughter could invoke, what manner of power could a Stormcaller bring to bear?