To him has been apportioned oversight over the North-East of Creation. Locked in a tower to starve, collected by the Red Lady, his is now the endless, bleak bureaucracy of cataloging mankind's more creative sins. To him was to be granted all the treasures of rich, golden shores, and the kindness of a royal family. He is Nio, eldest of the sons pawned and traded away. Together they are the Nastrandir, fell attendants to Mars, Maiden of Battles. To each child a Direction, to their father the holy core. Faithfully reporting upon the sins of men, the naked atrocity of those who would see their own wells poisoned, their own homes burned, than offer so much as a cup to the enemy or a roof to a foe. Since then they have served her, the Emperor and his children, since then they have walked the most wretched battlefields of the most brutal wars.
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A cluster of ruby red gems, a carmine crack in the great black vault oozing scarlet light on the lands below. And with her forth she ascended into heavens to set them in the sky as stars. With a third step she returned to the Emperor's seat and took his soul with a single stroke of her blazing sword. With a second step she ventured five hundred leagues hence and gathered the frail forms of the Emperor's starving sons. With one step she ventured five hundred leagues hence and gathered the bleached bones of the Emperor's fallen daughters. Now I will stand on the steps of my palace and fight, fight until I am overcome, fight until the streets run red and the gutters clot, fight until the very earth cracks beneath me and all that I wrought has blown away for if they wish to take even the meanest stone from the least hovel they must pry it, nail by nail, from my crooked fingers.Ī smile graced the Maiden's lips for such tenacity pleased the crueler portions of her heart. I have strangled my wives and bid my servants open their veins. I have no children to inherit my name, I have no more blood to give: my line has come to dust. But the foreign Empresses have taken other husbands and my daughters rot in fields of corpses. My daughters I bid fight on the very front lines to bring our house glory. My sons I sold to foreign Empresses for soldiers and wealth to fuel my wars. They shall be here soon.Īnd what has become of your line? She asked. By my hand I burned my fields and stained my lands with sorcery but their hunger drove them ever on. Within my lands I loosed plague and pathogen but I could not contain their advance. What has become of your great Empire? She asked.Īround my cities I raised great walls on the bones of countless slaves but I could not forestall the invaders. In time a Maiden with hair, red as cherries, red as coals, came to sit beside him. His great cities crumbling tombs, his verdant fields home only to weeds and scurrying insects.
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All about his feet the barren, cracked earth stretched away. As the end of his long life drew near he sat on the steps of his palace, long, white beard spilling down his chest. Favored of favored, chosen of chosen, by his hand all things were possible. Within his lifetime he had constructed all the wonders men might dream of and tamed the fickle, fell forces of Creation.
Within his lifetime he had etched cities from mountain stone and sown endless fields with grain. Upon his brow was set a golden seal, where the lips of the Ignis Divine had brushed his skin, and sweet sunlight flowed through his veins. In ancient times there lived a King of Kings, an Emperor of Emperors. Nio, North-Eastern God of Wartime Atrocity Ssssooooorta testing my hand at trying out a god for once, as well as an idea mentioned once about spirits just being spirits just being spirits and beings being able to translate between the three major groups with some degree of fluidityĪlso it's long because my internal editor is on fucking holiday, if ya got a complaint leave it in his inbox