the Rift


The Four Gods
1. - The God of the Sun.

2. - The Goddess of the Moon

3. - The God of the Earth.

4. - The God of the Spark.

The Mischeif
1. Random Event
2. Kaos

Not many know of where the gods came from, but the through words, whispered from generation to generation, a story unfolds. From the mists or time and the energy of potential, a God was created, the first sibling emerging into being. A normal sized horse, modest in musculature, yet destined to hold the power of time and electricity. His coat painted with the darkest shade of black, only to have pure white inscriptions break the dark void in swirls of patterns. Highlights of blue accented those ivory details, and electricity granted him the power of flight. His jagged horn a symbol of one of his elements, the ageless details of his face a testimony to the other.

The next to rise, not long after brother Time, would grow from the dust and vapor of the air, formulating the solid God of the Earth. His immense figure grew larger and larger with each passing day, dwarfing the height of his elder. Eyes of emerald, a body the deep color of rich soil, and a set of massive ram horns became the mark of the Earth.

Light, not seen before in this era so brightly, cascaded like a shockwave, the heat turning into long, curling tendrils of fire. The God of the Sun burst into being in all the radiance and violence of the center of the universe, golden in color with liquid golden eyes to match. Two, long horns curved from his handsome brow, cloven hooves making prints on the dust.

The fourth to arise did so subtly. A shadow that would not be cast out, even by the light grew into a feminine shape. Winds crashed along the surface of the heavens, spinning the shadow like a maelstrom in the sea. From the center of this tumultuous storm came the lavender curve of the God of the Moon, her pale eyes resembling the bright orb in the sky which only appeared when the sun disappeared on the horizon.

The land was vast and empty. Grey, ashen sands blew across the silence of the abyss, a bitter salute to the day that never rose across the horizon. Other lands were thriving. The sun rose and fell, and the tides drifted with the moon, but not this place. Like a power outage seen from space, the land we all call Helovia was a darkened shadow on an established world, ancient world. Loorien’s patch of decay was hidden from the native, primitive inhabitants. But not all places that live in darkness are lost. Forehooves of the divine sifted through the grey sands, and the God of the Earth exhaled a great sigh. The God of the Sun and the God of the Moon exchanged hesitant glances, but they trusted their elder not to lead them astray. Young, bright, and ambitious creatures they were, eager to embark upon something that was their own. The God of the Spark watched with disinterest, and he followed the trio ahead with an aged worry. Being divine was no responsibility at all, but being divine to those who depended upon them was like playing the same record for thousands of years. He had seen it happen before. Tragedy struck other lands with plague and darkness as their deities abandoned the mortals, leaving them in darkness and confusion. Would his brash, fire-born brother feel as interested in these transient, mortal souls along this unknown timeline? Would his quiet sister want to draw the moon to the sky for creatures who died in a blink of their eyes?

The God of the Spark did not voice his concerns. Instead, he followed, watching the three begin to work their magic over the emptiness that spanned the horizon. Sand began to dance on windswept dunes as the earth began to rumble and quake. Emerald eyes were closed, and the Earth Gods’ face was bent in concentration. Sweat dripped from his brow with this effort as mountains began to surge forth from the crust below in a glorious crowning of Helovia. In his exhale, the rains began to fall, hissing against the ashen sand. He spread his wings and pushed them down. The grey grains whistled in protest as they were struck from the dirt filled ground, cast miles and miles into the sea. Grasses, silent and lush began to blanket the land in a lavish green. A fault line filled with water that bubbled from earnest ground, spilling into oceans that roared in applause.

A lavender figure danced across the green grass, flashing her leonine tail around her hocks. Her thistle eyes were closed, and white mists danced in her wake. The dance was entrancing and mysterious, and the winds were her partner. They whistled through the mountains, calling forth thunderous clouds to snow upon the north, and they pushed the oceans into rhythm. The thick veil that covered the sky vanished, revealing a bright, white moon that began to recede into the horizon. Golden and proud, the God of light and fire pulled the sun from the horizon, groaning in effort. For the first time since Loorien’s birth, Helovia experienced a sunrise.

The God of the Spark watched and cast lightning in the stormy skies to the north, but watching his siblings was far more interesting. Each of them took to claiming a certain corner of their new plaything. His elder brother moved to the mountains, his mysterious sister enclosed the west in thick fog, and his golden brother moved to the fiery, hot south. The black and white god moved south as well, finding an oddity that emerged from this rapid creation: an island that leaked blue lava into the ocean which lay far below massive, sheer cliffs. Nothing but a narrow, rocky bridge connected the mainland to this place. Three, large rocks had oriented themselves in a semi-circle, and the pull toward the heavens was strong here. The god smirked bitterly. Three. Loorien knew that he had not planned on staying to watch the temporal mortals, and he did not blame the world for denying him. A chime rang in his head. A once dead lead brought to life altered the timeline, and the summons he received pulled in his gut. With a burst of sparks and a small shockwave, the God of the Spark was gone.

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