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Ooooh. This one sounds fun. 💙

"^(Please, hear my cry, Qriris of the fury. Shield me not, but wreathe me in the armaments of your wrath. Drink of my fire as I walk your burning path beneath the stars.)"

A chill rippled across my skin.

The prayer was quiet, distant, a lone voice in the night.

But it was there.

My name.

My words.

A call to the old-fire.

Though it keened out in a different tongue than the creatures had once invoked me, it echoed against the same cold heavens, spoke of that same furious and ephemeral and beautiful rage that had always kindled a fondness for the humans that had once known me.

It lit my weathered soul ablaze.

I closed my eyes, casting out to find that which had called me. I could feel the beating land beneath my fingertips, ran my hands once more over the great peaks and swelling oceans, searching for the cry.

It wasn't hard to find.

My hands trembled as I set my drink on the bar. Though I'd known his father and his father before, I barely registered the bartender's nod as I walked out into the street.

The cold of so many nights was gone. I felt the hum again, that thrumming current that ran beneath it all, and tipped my head back.

For the first time in a millennia, those once-familiar flames licked at the edges of my being. I tipped my head back in the rush, and in an instant I was gone.

The human was small.

Gods, they were all so small.

My heart broke again for these beings I'd once shepherded, seeing the human there, knelt by a tiny fire. That was always why I'd answered their calls - the heartbreak. That such luminous beings were tethered in such papery flesh, that these fires they built could only ever be such shallow mimicries of the rage within them. That they could themselves gaze on this cosmic injustice, and yet by some cruel fate their bodies had deigned them unworthy of their anger in the face of it.

I knelt by the fire across from the little thing.

"You burn bright, child."

The human opened her eyes, and I saw now the tears streaming silently down her face. There was no shock at my appearance. No, this was why she had been able to call me. The world had taken her shock, hollowed her luminous rage to dull points that strained against the dark.

"I'm so tired," the human said, and her face broke entirely now. She wept, falling to the ground, wracked with a wrenching sorrow.

"Shh, shh," I moved to sit by her, "The world has taken much from you, my darling."

"I can't-" she fought through the choking tears to speak.

"Shh, darling, sit with me, with this fire."

The human sniffled, quelling her tears faster than I thought she might. I helped her up, and we sat for a moment, gazing at the flames. I could feel her breathing quicken, the cogs in her mind begin to turn, the realization of what she had done setting in, so I have her a moment to process.

"You're real?" she asked, and the clawing fight against more tears filled me with a wave of simultaneous pride and sorrow.

"More or less," I replied. "More, now that you've invoked me."

"I didn't know what to do, I didn't-" gods, she had power in her, even as helpless as she was now. "I didn't know how to keep- to keep fighting."

"You're not alone anymore. And that prayer you managed to cook up can be more literal than you think, child." I pushed power into my words, enough for her to feel just how real I could be. "You are entitled to your anger, and that fight is something still in you. I cannot give you that. I can only right the injustice that is your inability to act on that fight."

This seemed to get through to her, and her next word struck me with incredible force.

"Good."

Though she still sniffled, though tears still lined her face, I could feel her kindle once more, the promise of my fire rushing to fill the hollow in her the world had made.

I felt a single tear fall down my own face, and I caught it as it fell, holding it on an outstretched fingertip.

"Tell me, child," I reached my hand into the flame, feeling my tear crystallize. "What has this place done to you?"

"My family- my village-" she gritted her teeth and stood, the sheer force of her will washing over me. "They poisoned the water, they- they took everything."

I stood after her, carrying the drop of my essence now bathed in fire.

"Not everything." I said, and emotions I hadn't felt in centuries filled me, lighting my eyes, my hands, bathing the room in the red glow of the old-fire. "They cannot take your fury."

I held out the teardrop, and she turned her gaze from the night to face me.

"You already know the path. Take it," I said, the voice of the old-fire joining my own. "Take it, and burn them all."

"Please help. My family is gone. I don't know what to do. My husband burns, my children buried. Please help me." a voice cried stirring me from my centuries long slumber. Reaching out I look to the last of my shrines. So few are left and most are not even recognized by anyone other than being ancient altars displayed in museum's. As I look upon the first being to pray to me in centuries I notice she's crouching at my altar within their nation's national museum. All I feel is her sorrow and desperation. 

After a few seconds I decide that if she needs help I'll help. "Child why do you appear in such sorrow?" I say as I appear behind her, startling her. 

"Wha….?" She cries in fright as she turns to face me. " W-wh-who are you?" She asks, confused with tears running down her face.

"I'm Paanaaraa, goddess of virtue, healing, bounty, and family. I'm the head of my family. I heard you crying at this altar." I reply calmly.

"B-b-bu-but the museum has it displayed as a statue?" she said pointing to the altar. I notice that it's one of the very first altars created in my name. A circle dias with a large lotus, standing in the lotus a lioness and her cubs.

"Ahh, an altar can be shaped like anything from a statue to a table." I replied. "You haven't told me yet who you are, my child." As I finish talking I lead her to a bench, sit her down and start wiping her tears away.

"M-m-my name is Julianne Sarthum. Are you really a g-go- oddess?" she said between her whimpers. 

"Yes my dear. Why do you want my help? For revenge? Or perhaps the power to save others from experiencing what you have?" I questioned.

"W-w-what I really want is my family back. But you can't do that can you." She stated.

"I cannot return them from the dead. It's not within my power anymore. Perhaps a few millennia ago I could. But as I have very few altars anymore I'm weakend." I say sadly as she her eyes widened and then she looked at me with sadness.

"Then can you help save other families from the plague and war tearing us apart?" She asked softly.

"That I can do. But I have a stipulation. After all nothing comes free child." I say with a loving smile.

"What's that?" she asked as she finally composed herself.

"As you save families, remind them of the old gods. Spread knowledge of my family so we may help you all once more. As it is if you hadn't cried in front of this altar I would still be slumbering with my family. For this I make you my priestess. I leave unto you this tome filled with the origins and rites for my entire family. As well as vestments allowing you to use the powers I command to help all before you. So my child, do you accept this bargain?" I say as I conjure a thick tome and the elegant vestments given to my priestesses. 

"Yes. It will take a long while, but I will do everything I can before my time comes. This country is torn and battered, but I'm certain that I can spread knowledge of your family, and I'll pass it on to a disciple when it's time." She said standing confident and proud. 

"Very well my child. And though you've lost your family, know that I'll have them waiting for you in my home." I say as I begin to fade from the mortal plane. "Know that now that I'm awakened I'll watch over you and as the others awaken they'll send their priests and priestesses to you so you may spread word."

As I fade back to my home I hear. "Yes, my Lady." And see Julianne dressed in her vestments smiling. 

………..

Many years later:

"Welcome my child, you have done well." I say to Julianne. After 100 years she had spread the knowledge I gave her far beyond her homeland and in turn awakened my family. 

"Thank you my Lady." She replied as she was embraced by her husband and children. 

"You're welcome my child. I now task you and your family to watch over the world with us, and be our messengers to the mortal plane." I say as I smile and watch them join me and my family for a feast. Knowing that if I hadn't answered that desperate plea that none of what now was, would've been remotely possible.

A warrior it was, a child born not in the image of my children like the rest, this one had a spirit rivaled only by my own.

It wasnt a prayer as much as a challenge though. "Hear me forgotten lord. I know not of your intentions nor your place within the 6 lords. But I know it is my destiny to call to you".

He was so close. Destiny... My children are made to create balance: Peace and Chaos, Life and Death, Space and time. And that leaves me, The 'Forgotten Lord, as they call me.

Just as he was brought into this world to prove even those of no power brought from the deepest depths can break expectations and shine brighter than the rest. In a world of magic bestowed upon the filth that is humanity by my twisted children. He managed to make it this far without any guidance. Its ironic honestly, that the runt of the litter ended up where he is now. A boy knowing not of what I am nor what I am cabable of. And yet he still calls out.

"My name is Ezekiel." He continues "Ezekiel Romano III".

Ahh Ezekiel. Makes sense, a Hebrew name meaning quite literally 'Gods strength'. I called him a boy before, I feel that was untrue. He is more man than any human alive and less human than any of my children. If a human can decide whether or not it is 'right' or 'wrong' to do the same thing as someone else who receive the opposing judgment. Then surely that would be condridictary. Apparently self defense is 'less evil' than murder, but both are just as bad as each other just one makes people feel like it was justified. Morality is what keeps them sane'. Evil is what makes them human. Realising this is one of the greatest feats a sentient being can achieve, something only Ezekiel and I have accomplished. Considering my children are 'Gods' it infuriates me a child learns his lesson before they do.

"I have one wish from you... I wish to speak to thee. There are no texts, no one who knows of you, the only thing people know about is the legend of the Forgotten Lord. One only reachable by one connected spritually to hisself, I beleive I am ready".

His voice is the first to reach me since the begining. His tone and his presence felt omnipotent compared to his words. I needed not his request, merely a single word wouldve done it. I mean... I was meant to meet him. He was made for this purpose. I created it all. He was made in my image. It was bound to happen. Bound by fate.

"I hear your crys. I will visit you the next time your eyes close and you drift off to sleep".

I leave him with those simple words. His whole world just changed, he dosen't have time for a full explaination right now. He will have to wait. Hes conquored mountains and slayed armies with his bare hands. Fate was clearly on his side.

Dark, very dark. I love it.

^He ^who ^divided ^night, ^brought ^the ^stars ^down ^to ^earth, ^our ^supreme ^deity, ^master ^god ^to ^no ^other, ^he ^who ^gave ^us ^strength, ^Huitzilopochtli. ^Master ^of ^the ^Sun, ^hear ^my ^plea.

I felt consciousness slowly return to me, I opened my eyes only to be greeted with more darkness. I attempted to move slightly, but my body was held down in place beneath old stone. Rubble shifted as I mustered enough strength to emerge out from beneath its confines. My ancient bones had hardened during my time asleep, cracking and popping at every movement.

I looked around, searching for whomever it was that had called upon me. I caught sight of where I had broken free. The familiar sight of golden stone was enough to tell me of my whereabouts. My once grand Temple was now nothing more than a mere pile of moss covered stones and bricks. “How long have I been gone?” I asked aloud, trying to find any evidence of a recent worshipper or priest.

Alas, it was evident there hadn’t been anyone near my temple in centuries perhaps even longer. How could the humans forget me? After all, It was I who led them to their paradise of Tenochtitlán and It was I who led them to victory in so many of their battles.

I was quickly ripped away from my confusion and rapid questioning thoughts when I heard a voice calling my name from within the trees bordering my Temple.

I walked through the vast amount of forest, the earth shaking beneath each of my footsteps. My feathered headdress ripped off tree branches that had gotten caught in my haste.

That’s when I saw him, a meek old man perched upon a tree stump. He had a strange appearance, almost as if it was contrived. His hair was wizened and straw-like, nearly fossilized it was so dry and thin. He had worn eyes and ochre colored skin much like the mellow-red-brown light that bathed the forest.

“Speak human. What is your reason for calling to me? Where are the rest of your people?” I questioned angrily.

The old man looked up at me, his sunken eyes widened in what i assumed to be surprise, his wrinkled skin stretching slightly with his expression.

“My Lord! You’ve come, you’ve actually come!” He exclaimed. The old man fell to his knees and lowered his head to the ground. He scooped up earth in his hands and raised it to his mouth. This was an act I have witnessed many times.

“You needn’t bother with such formalities, child. It is obvious you are too weak. Now, tell me your name, human.”

The old man took his walking stick in his hand and rose himself back onto the stump. “I am called Xiuhcolotl. I’ve come here to seek your help. The people have forgotten the old ways, My lord. Their minds have grown weak and hateful. They’ve allowed themselves to be consumed by new technologies and petty wars. New world issues and diseases pop up like wildflowers. Your mother, your brothers and the other gods have been lost to time, My lord. I’ve never forgotten you, however, Great one.” He paused, searching carefully for what to say next. “The world is in shambles. Political leaders are corrupt, and young men and women are fighting battles for leaders that have never once stepped foot in the line of fire, weapons are no longer simple as you once knew them, the seas and rivers are either dried up or full of tainted waters. The earth is slowly dying, and with it, the gods.” He finished.

I scowled at his last sentence, for I did not want to believe his words to be true. “Fret not, child. for the meantime the rest of us are simply asleep, but not quite in the way you humans understand it. I feel an odd shift and I heed your warning, what is it you are asking I do?” I asked, despite already knowing what he wanted, for what else would one call upon a god of war for?

“My Lord, I beg you to save us. It is time we begin anew.” He said. Xiuhcolotl reached for something tucked behind his back. With trembling hands, he pulled out a large withered obsidian blade. “Bring upon us the sixth sun. Take my heart as a sacrifice, may it give you enough strength.” He held the knife out to me, it was much smaller in my hand than it was in his small wrinkled one. “I have lived long enough and I have seen too much, My Lord. Please allow me to go out in a way befitting of a devotee of the Gods. I wish to be useful.”

I sighed as I was not very eager to bring an end to my last loyal follower. “Very well, child. For your sacrifice and service to the gods, In the new world I will make sure you are reborn and granted the luckiest of Tonalli’s.”

The old man smiled and took a deep breathe. “Thank you, My Lord.” Xiuhcolotl did not fear death, in fact he welcomed it openly in a way I had thought lost to his kind.

I did not wish to cause him pain so I did what was necessary as quickly as possible. However, I shall spare the gruesome details of the old man’s end. Once all was said and done, I placed the still twitching heart into my mouth. I had almost forgotten the sweet iron taste human blood produced. Almost as instantly as i had swallowed the small human organ, my body began to hum excitedly as my strength returned and the markings on my body returned just as vibrant as they had been when I first emerged from my mothers womb. I picked up the man’s still body into my arms, his blood still fresh on my palms. With my strength now returned, the first thing I decided to do was find a temporary place for him within the sky until it was time for his soul to return back to the earth.

It was afterwards that I was able to finally take the time to notice the cool air. The smell was so foul that it had caused my nose and eyes to sting. I felt my face contract at the ripe oder. The old man was right, something was wrong. If I wanted the other gods to return I must bring an end to the current times. A new era is needed.

It is time to welcome the coming of the Sixth Sun.

the mood in this short is perfect

WOW

Dark, yet promising.
Glimmers of hope i sense..

Well done!

I'm assuming that's an impressed wow

Very.

Lost for more words.

Tbh I'm writing a book at the moment, or I'd turn this into a series telling about Julianne's adventures and perils. I'll probably add a link if I do start a series based on this story.

I`m ready and waiting for more..

Seriously - i`m almost angry that this is all there is at this point.

The concept was a simple one - but holds a lot of promises for awesome tales.
Again - well done.

“I’ve prayed to every deity of every religion, of all books new and old, multiple times over for each, and received no answer. This will be futile, and that I am aware of, but this is a last ditch effort. I dug up a ritual so ancient I am unaware of what it will entail, what has been lost to time, or even your name. But I beg of you, if you are out there, come to me, answer my pleas.”

It was odd, hearing a call so desperate. For what would be mortal eons, Millenia of being forgotten, felt to me quite short. I figured, perhaps, my tyranny of the days I assumed had been lost, was finally being acknowledged, and that maybe I should indulge this, not out of mercy or empathy, but curiosity. Surely, if someone so distant and destructive had caught this individual’s eye, they needed the help.

So abiding the ritual, I found myself in a very dark room. I wondered how far humanity had progressed in my absence. The one in front of me was small, a young adult. They wore spikes and dark colours. A warrior? No, too flimsy and weak to be viable in vicious combat. Perhaps this was some sort of intimidation tactic? Or maybe a new fad? Mortals had those, I had heard. In any case, this little being looked up at me with awe, scurrying away from the circle they had summoned me from.

“Tell me. How are you so desperate to seek an entity of which you do not know even the slightest detail?”

They were agape, lost for words. They reached a hand out, curiously, as if to attempt to touch me. I didn’t really mind that much. Of course they’d be surprised. From a mortal’s perspective, this would be absolutely ludicrous. I sat on the floor. It was soft and plush, like the hide of a dead animal. Perhaps this nimble creature was capable of more than I had assumed. Finally, their hand connected with my body, feeling me over to make sure that I was not a figment of their imagination. Back in the days of old, I would not have allowed such dawdling, but I suppose my heart had softened with time.

“You’re real… oh my god. Okay. No, wait, that’s probably rude. Oh my you.”

I let out a snort of amusement. That was funny. Maybe they served no purpose in combat, but were gifted lavish hides and armour for their job as an entertainer? “Tell me what it is you wish.” (I couldn’t come up with anything good beyond this point.)

A promising start..

Wishing you inspiration for more!

[poem]

here i am

waiting For it all to end

nothing but my mind and me

if only i, tOo, could transcend

but here i am

lonesome, oh, these yearRs have been

passing at a glacial pace

without so much as a plea for me

here i am

since the aGe of birthing ended

and the time of pod-birth started

thEy have not said my name

i have become redundant

hear, i am?

a quieT sound, so familiar

a soft whirring between My ears

but how could this be?

it's been yEars and years and years

hear, i am?

there must be something in the aether

it caNnot be a birther

"tawaret where are yOu?"

i'm sure i heard it murmur

here i am

i've found my way, give me your hand

and to think i'd cursed this immortality

but here i am to protect

the rebirth of humaniTy

here i am

(edit: paragraph spacing)

I thought your use of caps was odd.

But wow.. clever!!

I will not forget!

Fantastically written

The altar to Restera, Goddess of Forgiveness, stood hidden in a cave, ever forgotten. The goddess had been cursed by the other gods, forced to be hidden in a cave under The Petrified Forest, named after it's stony like color and foggy days and nights. There was a clause, however, should a mortal find her altar and pray, she would be released from her prison.

She never thought anyone would venture into the depths of a cave after a forgotten goddess, many didn't even reach the forest above. The altar was placed in the back of the cave, a statue of the goddess looking over the entrance to the inner sanctum. She stood trapped in that statue, forced to stare at the never moving doors, waiting for a savior.

One day, or maybe night, the door creaked open. Probably just the bats, or the rats the goddess thought, but the door didn't stop opening until a human figure walked in. Restera was speechless, as this was her only visitor in one-hundred-fifty years. The figure revealed itself as a man in gold plated armor, and he walked towards the altar...

and and and..

what happens next??

Good to know you're interested, lol.

I'll save this comment & work on it a bit l8er, I started writing and something came up, so I'll update it soon! Thx!

If you like this, you might like a short story by an author I love. It's one of the stories in "Tortall and Other Lands" by Tamora Pierce. It's called The Hidden Girl.

You don't need to have read any of her books to be able to read it, just know that it's set in a fantasy land.

It's about a young woman and her father who travel as wandering priests in an Islamic (I think) type country. Except they teach the whole thing, not just the parts that suit the people(men) in power. The God/dess in question reaches out to the girl to become their herald in an interesting way and I really like it

Anyway, I highly recommend all her books, but this short story made me think of that book. Might go reread that now

That was really really good. Thanks for writing it.

Gems like these are why I come back to this subreddit time and time again. Amazing piece.

I was awake.

Who was i?

I did not know.

What was i?

I did not know.

But I was awake.

And someone needed my help.

I knew almost nothing, but the one thing I did know is that I helped when I was asked to. So I focused on that desperate plea, and I felt myself move. Miles and miles passed under me and I saw....destruction.

Burned trees standing like skeletons on fields of mud. Stone towers jutting up from the training, desolate and empty, maybe they were inhabited once, but no more. And the terrible craters, where the air and ground was poisoned for miles around.

But I also saw life, still soldiering on through it all. I saw tiny animals creeping around the destruction feeding on what grew. I saw plants overtaking the stone towers and fields of mud. Though they could not grow near the craters. And I saw people, and I felt love and care for them. They skulked, hid, and crept though the ruins surviving on whatever they could find. Dressed in rags carrying everything they owned on their backs, with contraptions meant to bring death in hand.

And then I found him, the desperate soul who had called put to the uncaring world for salvation. To any god ir spirit he could think of, and he would recieve an answer. He laid against a wall, an empty canteen in hand, he was dying, and I could not allow that.

So I reached out and in front of him the ground would split open. And from that crack in the ground water would spring forth. Not the poisoned, death brining water all over this wasteland. But pure and clear water seen so rarely. The man, upon seeing this, gathered what strength he could to crawl forward, took off the mask he wore and drank of the clear water, before filling his canteen.

He stood up after he had drank his full, and looked around. He could not see me, but I could see him. He was thankful, and relieved that something had answered him. But he could not stay here long. So he would travel again, wherever the wind would take him.

But now, he would no longer travel alone

Eons had passed since the last time they had woken. Millennia of fitful sleep, dreaming of those that needed the gift they could provide. Yet few came even close to what it took to wake them from their slumber. None could muster the desperation, the pain and hopelessness needed for a prayer to reach a deity as ancient as they were.

Only few had ever come before them beseeching their aid, even in times when its name had still been spoken, had been breathed from shaking, salty lips. A mother tearing through her own flesh to keep a starving infant fed, a healer sobbing at their own helplessness as their loved ones slowly suffocated in writhing agony, an old man with tired bones, unable to move as fast as was necessary to stand before the young children as the sword swung down.

Only in the most desperate of times had they ever selected a priest. With the gift they bestowed it had been no wonder that they had slipped into oblivion soon. So when they felt the burn of acid, the heat of flames clawing at one’s skin, the agony of cold biting through one’s flesh, the feeling of absolute desperation and helplessness, they reveled in it and welcomed the pain. For the pain meant they were needed.

The figure that had called to them, had reached out with such desperation to an entity so long forgotten, was tiny. Yet it burned with such agony that it might have been desperation itself. Wretched screams tore free from its small form, echoing through the empty silence of the battlefield as it knelt over a mountain of ash and shackled bones. It watched helplessly as the coarse dust of what once were creatures of its own kind slipped through its fingers and scattered with the freezing wind, violent sobs and gags shaking the tiny frame. No vomit came, the stomach had been empty from weeks on the run.

The sob that left its mouth was spoken in a language the deity had never heard before, yet it understood the meaning.

“Sisters-“

They watched in awe as the small one wretched and choked on stomach acid. It was such a young soul, yet one with such compassion that others had not learned in a thousand life times. Perhaps it was its innocence that had enabled the small creature to wake them. Their awe grew once more as from cracked lips spilled words in a language they knew, a language as old as themselves. The uttered healing spell was simple, weak, just strong enough to heal a scrape or cut. Yet the young witch spoke it over and over again, as if it could raise its sisters from the dead if only spoken often enough. Time and time again it screamed in pain as more and more of its little magic was exhausted. They felt with it as the excruciating pain of magic overuse stabbed into its head, as its stomach burned with acid, as its voice grew hoarse and raw from its screams. And soon they decided the frail little form had suffered enough. They embraced its tiny frame, covered it with their essence and soothed its mind and body. Searching through its mind they found the words they needed. Their voice warped and twisted as they echoed their words into the child’s thoughts:

“I feel with you young one. I feel your pain and your regret. Your prayer reached me and your desperation woke me.”

They saw through the little soul’s eyes as it had trembled in its hiding spot, as it had prayed for one of its sisters to return, as it had tried to shut out the screams of terror and anguish, the roaring of fire and the cheering of men watching and reveling in it. It felt the small one’s fear as it had sat paralyzed until there was silence, heard its roaring thoughts screaming at itself to get up and help, to do something, anything- felt its world shatter as it finally crawled out of the barrel that had hid it so well, felt its mind break as it saw the burnt remains of those that had raised it, loved it, cared for it and taught it their language- the language of magic and ancient deities, hid it away and fought to keep it safe, even as it meant certain death for them.

“I assure you, nothing you could have done then would have been able to save your sisters. But you did the best you could. And I can help you help them.”

They felt the confusion swirling in its storm of thoughts and continued, a sadness reverberating in their voice.

“My gift is not kind, young one. It is not a blessing, it will cause you pain, it will kill you. But through me you will gain the strength to act, to save, to sacrifice for others when you could not before. I can teach you the words, the prayer to raise them, to exchange your life for theirs. My gift is self-sacrifice. Become my priestess, young witch, and I shall give you the power to save them.”

They felt the young one think for a second, remembering the warmth of the other women’s love, the joy it felt as they smiled at it, combed its hair, healed its scrapes and little wounds and taught it the very same spell. The feeling of having lost the most precious thing it would ever know broke the deity’s heart once more, just as it had broken their heart to feel the pain of all the others they had blessed over the millennia of their existence.

As they felt the young soul reach a decision, they warned:

“Before you decide, I believe you should know that your sisters would have not wanted this, they did this of their own accord, out of love and the desire to protect you. You would go against their will. Will you still agree?”

They felt the answer before they heard it, the young one whispering their consent through cracked lips. And with that, the deity chose the witch as their priestess, beginning to whisper the ancient words of the spell into its head. It was a spell which surpassed the young one’s capabilities by far, it would drain its life force and allow the deity to fulfill its prayer- It’s life for the lives of its sisters. As it cast the spell, the deity wrapped itself around the young soul to guard it against the pain of the ritual, it had suffered enough. Soon, their first priestess in millennia began to writhe under what little pain they couldn’t keep from it, still, it must have felt unbearable to such a frail creature. The witch’s skin began to blacken, its body smoking and then slowly crumbling to dust as one last tear rolled down its cheek.

The final syllable was uttered and the small creature dissolved completely, leaving behind only a skull of pure diamond, a sign of the immense burden the deity’s gift had been to their priests in life.

As one by one bones reformed from splinters and bodies rose from ashes, muscle and hair regrew, mouths gasped for air and eyes opened, the first distraught screams rung out over the burnt grounds and soon a dozen new prayers were uttered to the deity. And a dozen new priests were chosen.

*adds to read list

Thx.

Thank you :)

People are starting to pick up on it

Ray carefully chipped away the remaining dirt around the tablet he was excavating and blew the dust from its surface. He looked around, noticed Bob, and kept looking.
Bob would have done. Really, he would have. He was an archaeologist. He was fluent in Koine Greek. He was the nearest person to Ray. But Ray kept looking.
“Mr. Watson!” Ray shouted, “Come here, I want to see you!” Frank Watson stood from the pile of stones he was bonking with his hammer. As he passed by Bob, Bob pretended to trip him up by sticking out his foot. Frank knew enough to just let it go, otherwise, Bob would be at it the rest of the day.
Three weeks ago, Bob made a joke when Ray peed in the port-a-potty instead of on the ground like a real man. Never mind that it was unsanitary, it was strictly against the rules of the trade. Don’t pee where you dig. Bob had referred to Ray as Mrs. Raymond ever since.
It’s the kind of guy he was. Unpleasant, unfunny, and unable to see it.
Bob looked upset that his joke hadn’t paid off. “C’mon,” he squealed, “where’s your sense of humor? No one can take a joke these days, sheesh!” He kicked his leg out in staccato bursts to show how funny it had been in case anyone had missed it.
Frank knelt down by Ray and looked at the tablet. “Greek,” he said, sounding pleased. “Looks like Koine to me,” he said, his voice going up in pitch. ”Good god, Ray, it’s a prayer to Hestor!”
Frank was excited. He’d spent his entire professional life hunting for a god only he seemed to believe was there. There were hints in the historical record. Parchment torn in just the right place to obscure a name. Pot shards with a figure no one could quite identify. Most frustratingly, a scroll which happened to clearly describe the god Frank had spent 40 years looking for but was left ambiguous by the fact that the author’s cat had spilled ink on the scroll. Of course, the cat had then stepped all over the scroll, blotting out any mention of the deity being described.
Most of his colleagues wrote all of this up to Frank being a crackpot, a fame hunter, and a very popular fan fiction writer.
In Search of the Lost God, Frank’s magnum opus, had sold well in the right circles. Amazon recommended tin foil hats to those who had also purchased Frank’s book but that was no fault of his own. He really did have quite rigorous academic methods, it’s just that he had really bad luck.
Until today, it seemed.
Ray nudged Frank and asked again, “But who is Hestor?”
Frank pointed at the tablet and read aloud, “O! Hestor, maker of mighty works, please grant us this day our prayer, undo the wickedness laid at our dog’s ass.” No, Frank paused, “Sorry, undo the wickedness laid at our feet. In your name, we.. prostrate ourselves and beg your aid.”
Frank looked at Ray. Ray, who’d read Frank’s book, looked back at Frank.
Ray whistled. “We’ve found him. By god, we’ve found him.”
Have you ever been walking down the street and felt like your phone had vibrated in your pocket but, when you pull it out, there were no notifications? Hestor could have sworn his phone had just gone off. It had been so long since it had, sadly, that any time he had that sensation, he just let it go. There was just no way. That ship had sailed. He tried to ignore it and focus on his game of pickleball against Ahuramazda. A game he was losing badly.
Frank could barely contain his excitement. “Ray, look, I want this to be real more than anyone in the world, but we should hold off on celebrating.” He turned and called to Bob. “Bob, I think we might have something here, can you come check on my translation?”
“But look,” Ray said, pointing at the pictograph accompanying the text. It looked exactly like the pictograph from all the mysterious pot shards they'd found. It was almost assuredly Hestor, Frank’s lost and now-named god.
“I know,” Frank whispered, “I just can’t afford to have my hopes dashed again.”
Just weeks before his infamous book was released, Frank announced the discovery of a similar tablet, which he thought might vindicate his unpopular belief in a lost god.
It turned out to be a recipe for falafel that had been written by a chef who was very bad at spelling.
Frank wasn’t keen to live through that chapter of his life again.
Bob walked over, still salty over his failed “jokes”. He looked at the tablet and started reading, “First mash the chickpeas and form them into balls.” He stopped because he couldn’t contain his laughter.
Frank did his best to humor him, “Very funny, Bob, can you tell me what it really says, please?”
Bob stopped laughing. He picked up the tablet and read out more or less what Frank had read. “This isn’t anything good,” Bob said. “It’s the same old, same old.”
“But what does the pictograph look like?” Ray asked, barely able to contain himself.
Hestor called a time-out. “Ahuramazda, I’m so sorry, I just have to check this really quick,” he said between deep, haggard breaths. He scurried off the court to look at his phone. It displayed a latitude and longitude that was square in the middle of his old stomping grounds. Could this actually be a prayer? For him?
“Hey, guys!” he shouted over to his friends, “I really need to take this prayer! Ahura, I want a rematch, buddy! I won’t take it easy on you next time! Isis, looking good, babe! Odin, next Wednesday, yeah?!”
His friends ignored him.
Hestor poofed out of there as fast as godly possible.
“Hey! Thank you so much for calling me,” he said solidifying next to an astonished Ray, Frank, and Bob. “What can I do for you?”
Ray, Frank, and Bob looked dumbstruck.
“Anything,” Hestor said, overpromising, “Anything at all. Really! I’m in your debt on this one.”
Frank, Ray, and Bob looked on, clearly still overwhelmed by the sudden presence of a god.
“I miss that look,” Hestor said, “ I really should have been doing in-person calls the whole time.” He made a little gesture that said, so, what can I do for you and then said, “So, what can I do for you?”
Frank spoke first. “You’re real? Like for real real?”
“Of course I’m real,” Hestor said, a little put off.
“And you can grant us any wish we want?” Bob asked.
“Prayer...” Hestor said, “I can answer your prayers. Wishes are for genies. If you want a wish, there’s a lamp buried 20 feet down.”
Ray thought of his dying mother.
Frank thought of his reputation briefly then thought of world hunger and a host of other larger issues, somewhat guiltily.
Bob spoke first. “Mighty Hestor, make it so I’m funny again.”
Hestor gritted his teeth, “Oh, sorry, that’s not really in my wheelhouse.”
Frank took a breath. “I thought you said you could answer any prayer?”
Hestor shrugged and explained, “Yeah, you got me. I might have been overly excited that you called me.”
“But,” Ray spurted out, “It says right here that you’re a maker of mighty works! What can you do?”
“Let me see that,” Hestor huffed while bending over to read the tablet. Bob turned it so he could read it. “Dear Hestor, answer my prayer! My neighbor is a real dog’s ass. Smite him, oh maker of petty works!”
“Forgive me, “ Frank said, “I’ve studied this language for forty years, that is not what it says.”
Hestor smiled and said, “Try me. Ask anything.” He paused and reframed it. “Ask me anything… but ask it petty.”
Bob laughed and said, “Even your lost god thinks you’re an idiot!”
Before Frank could answer, Ray spoke up. “O! Mighty Hestor, Bob is a dog’s ass. Smite him, oh maker of petty works!”
Hestor smiled.
Bob poofed off to nothingness and Hestor returned to the pickleball court. A small detail had been lost in the drama of a god showing himself, and that was that Bob had been holding the tablet when he poofed. It fell to the ground and broke in just such a way to obscure Hestor’s name.
Frank decided to live off the revenue of his crank pot book and never published Hestor’s name. It would be too much of a risk to let a species as petty as humanity access to such a god. He also decided to never cross Ray, who for his part, immediately started digging for the genie lamp below his feet.

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"I need the strenght to overcome this situation in my life. I tried to pray to all kind of gods but nothing seems to work. I hope this time will be different. I hope you will hear my desperate cry. Please help me, K"

In eons I never had the chance to hear someone or something mentioning this.

I was forgotten by all the races from all the universes known and unknown.

This poor foul must be knowing something that nobody knows. So I decided to see where it goes.

This poor soul was challenged in his life. Her pain in unknown, and her intention are as pure as they are a little bit childish for me. But what is not childish for me?I am the first God of Creation. All the things, seen and unseen are made by me. The perception of this little human about reality is as fragile as a fly in a tornado. The only thing that she wants is to be strong enough to work more to support her family. So foolish and noble. She wants to sacrifice herself for the good of her family. Nothing seems to be fair in this poor creature's life. But she is the only one who found a way and the necesarry information to pray to me. This is enough for me to help her a little bit more that she expects. This is the first time she prays so I decided to make her mother's illnes dissapear.

She prayed for the second time and the third time and so on. After some time, i became her only God, and she is asking for signs.

Little does she knows that she can summon me anytime she likes, because, now, she is the only thing that keeps me awake, and I want her to be happy. She is prayimg so why wouldn't I provide her the life she needs.

This time she did it. After the prayer, she wanted me to give her a sign. A sigh that I am here and all the good things that happened were not just luck. So here i am, taking a human form to meet the poor soul that gave me hope.

She asked me why I was the one who helped her and why the oder gods never listened to her prayers.

The onlu reason why the other gods never help is that they think they are superior. They juns wanna watch and have fun. They have fun when they see creatures struggling. But not me. I know that when creatures stop praying, they lose their power. And, someday, they will be forgotten, just like me. After a long discussion with this little poor soul, I left. And my only objective was to take care of her needs. Her life was wonderfull, but someday, something happened.

See? Nothing is perfect. Even Gods have their flaws. Nothing has infinite power. Think about that God and the rock paradox. If you don't know what I mean, let me explain. If any God has limitless power to do everything, cand that God make a rock that even He can't move? If He can make that rock he is not able to move it, so that is the limit of His power. If He can not make this rock, His power is again limited. That day, she forgot to pray, and even I was not paying attention, and some drunk man in a metal box with wheels hit her and she lost her life. Everything started to crumble, because if she was not there for her family, they returned back to their original state. They wete all sick and poor. They did not even tought about what happend. They only cared about the fact that they won't have the necessary funds to bury her.

Her family never loved her. They saw her as a source of income and a source for their whealthy lifestyle. She was tge one who was struggling. She was the one who was doing everything. Every good thing that happened to them was because of her. But the most important thing is that she was the only one in eons that prayed to me. She was the one that made me realize that nothing will ever change in this reality that i have created. So now, because she woke me up and helped me to regain my power, I will get rid of this reality and make a new one, where all the species will have only one God, and because she put her hope in me, I will let her be the God of this reality. I am too old to rule over this.

Sorry for all the mistakes that might be in this story. English is not my first language, so please do not roast me too bad 🥲

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> the voice of the old-fire

> Take it, and burn them all

Great Old One Warlock backstory