Image Transcription: Desirebro's Tale, 8/9

Qorg and Ceret had also been busy. When they returned to the restored Temple of the One-Eyed Tree after an incredibly long three years, they had quite a story to tell. As we feasted, we were told of grand battles against other demigods of War, including one who had a terribly annoying power of always being able to raise his shield to block whatever came at him.

Though Ceret shot arrow after arrow, until all of her many quivers were empty and the demigod’s three-inch thick iron shield held a thousand or more shafts, he continued to advance towards her. Even as ten men surrounded him, he blocked each of their blows, and cut them down one by one. When he finally reached Ceret, his victory certain, Qorg ran forward and slammed his iron club so hard that the note that rang out from the shield alone killed several people, and deafened the rest of the battlefield.

As the demigod lay upon the ground, Qorg forced the needle of one of his God-slayers right over the shield that still managed to weakly rise, despite the demigod’s arm being nothing more than jelly held together in a sack of skin. Qorg plunged it into the demigod’s skull, and watched as his divinity poured from his eyes, nose, and ears.

There were several such tales, and having slain six demigods and absorbing their powers had perhaps made them the strongest of all the demigods of War. They did not return without gifts either, and presented us each with chained silver flasks.

For Pleth, the essence of a demigod that could control the winds, who was slain when Qorg tunneled beneath him and dragged him underground.

For myself, Ceret was quite proud to present me with the essence of the demigod who had killed me so many years ago, and even though a power of Nature would ordinarily have gone to Pleth, she asked me to truly don the mantle of Cym the Fire Eater.

Amidst all this good news, they also brought dark tidings. The Greater Gods had not been idle, and Handelhan had proved his worth to them again. He had managed to create Avatars for the Greater Gods, bodies upon the mortal realm that were indestructible and allowed them to channel their full might. Qorg and Ceret had seen the Avatar of the God of War upon a battlefield, and watched as he tore a castle asunder with a single wave of his flail.

This news was grave indeed, especially when it was followed with signs that the Greater Gods were tired of our continued game. Qorg and Ceret had returned not to share stories, but to gather our forces in order to challenge the Greater Gods and the demigods they had assembled.

It was much too soon. Pleth’s worshippers had grown tremendously, perhaps to the point where he even rivaled the God of Nature, but I had no followers to my name beyond some southern storytellers and children. Qorg and Ceret, though they now tangibly radiated with power, could not hope to defeat both the Avatars and the Demigods, no matter how strong they might have become.

I knew then that it was not a question of choice. The Greater Gods were coming, and we had no one to offer our prayers.

Qorg and Pleth did not waste any time. That very night, they began to construct defenses, with Qorg using one of his new powers to summon the souls of war engineers to dig massive trenches and build high walls. Pleth had the forest grow, and grow, and grow, until there were trees that were wider than houses and several hundreds of feet tall.

I struggled with the control of flames, which proved far more difficult than simply willing them to do as I wanted. More often than anything else, I would try to either shift or grow a flame, but would only end up snuffing it out. At the end of the week, I had to console myself with the idea that extinguishing fires was likely just as useful a power as creating them.

Had I more time, I would have earnestly liked learning how to create towering infernos, but the Gods were not quite so patient. We heard them coming many hundreds of miles away, a grand procession befitting the powers that governed the world.

Pleth and Qorg’s defenses were impressive, even more so considering how little time they had. Massive trees stalked enormous cliffs like lumbering giants, each of them equal to a small army. And we had a small army as well, in the form of skeletons powered by the souls of fallen warriors, brought back to the mortal realm by Qorg. Animals of every species had assembled, and Ceret’s warrior priests manned catapults and ballistae.

Standing upon the roof of his Temple, Pleth looked far into the distance, reading the winds and listening to the chatter of birds. Next to him stood Ceret, her bow drawn, and wall of arrows arranged behind her. Qorg had rushed to the front lines, not even bothering to say anything like a farewell, and I was in the Temple courtyard, desperately trying to make something that was remotely like a fireball.

The battle broke rapidly. Demigods, most of them servants of War, battled against animals, trees, skeletons, the wind, and a hail of arrows and stones. Each of their struggles was likely worthy of an epic poem, but most of them did not manage to make it within a mile of the Temple. The brave few who did were slain by Ceret’s arrows, which always struck their targets and now also exploded when they did.

When Ceret pointed out that she was certain she had shot the same flying demigod four times, I nearly collapsed at the thought. No matter how many demigods we defeated, they simply returned, whole and rested, while our forces were slowly worn away.

If we had any chance of victory, it would have to be Qorg. Fighting near the front lines, he had left with a set of God-slayer needles, and was going through them rapidly.

When he returned, I didn’t recognize him, for he had grown to be eleven-feet tall and had a spare set of arms. He only stayed long enough to get a fresh supply of God-slayers, and then ran off once again, his iron club in one hand and an endless scream issuing from the other.

The next time he returned, I thought he had obtained the power of flight. When he didn’t slow down and slammed through a temple wall, I realized that he had been thrown. The Avatar of War was not far behind, a golden flail in his hands as he leapt.

[Transcriber's Note: Random comment, not in story.]

Anon, 01/06/13, 22:05

If Hollywood could do this right, I would love to see this story in film form.

I ran to Pleth, to try and get him to help Qorg, but he was fighting his own battle. The Avatar of Nature had summoned beasts from a time forgotten, and they were devouring the other animals. The giant trees withered as they neared him, and Ceret’s arrows blossomed into harmless flowers as they struck him.

I urged Ceret’s warrior-priests that they wanted to flee rather than fight, even as I knew that their lives were lost. As I watched horror-struck, each of them found a partner, and with little ceremony, stabbed each other.

A fine way to announce the presence of the Avatar of Desire.

He had chosen the form of beautiful woman, and with a wave of his arm compelled me to kneel before him. I kneeled immediately, but as he came closer, thrust my arms out towards him, summoning all the fire I could.

It didn’t even singe his long flowing hair or his sheer white gown, and I did not need his compulsion to tell me to stop when I did. As he stepped closer, more beautiful than anything I had ever imagined, he simply took my breath away.

I was in no danger of dying, as a demigod needed no air nor food nor water, but the pain in my lungs continued to increase until it felt like I had actually eaten fire. I wept since I could not scream, and the god who I had called my God graced me with the most beautiful chuckle I had ever heard.

He was amused at the thought that I had managed to resist his compulsions once before. There I was, not even his servant any longer, and I couldn’t resist his simplest suggestion even at the cost of such terrible pain.

To my horror, while I remained kneeling in front of the Avatar, Qorg was thrown down in front of me, all of his arms torn from his body. He spouted blood from countless wounds, and his iron club had been thrust into his lower back, piercing through his spine.

The Avatar of War did not even seem injured, laughing as he casually strode over, picked Qorg up by his leg, and began to swing him. With a snap of his wrist, Qorg’s leg tore from his body, and Qorg was thrown deep into the forest. The Avatar of War let out a low whistle as he dropped the leg, and ran off to chase after Qorg.

A fitting end for all of us, I supposed. I didn’t even want to know what was happening to Pleth at the moment, nor did I like the idea of Ceret’s fate. We had lost, and would lose everything, wholly and completely, all because we had desired power beyond our grasp.

In utter agony, I dove right past despair and sought pure oblivion, praying to my God to simply kill me. But, the Avatar continued to watch me as I made pitiful gagging motions, sometimes offering me a chuckle that sounded far less sweet.

But, as I continued to ask for death, the desire seemed to slowly lift from me.

For the briefest, purest moment, I thought that I was being flooded with hope, and was about to embrace it wholeheartedly. But, I had not lost my wits, nor the agonizing pain, and I had been a demigod of Desire long enough to know when my own desires were being tampered with.

The Avatar of Desire did not want me to wish to die so badly.
The Avatar of Desire did not want me wanting to die.
The Avatar of Desire did not want me to die.

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