Walking the short distance to the East wing double doors, he knocks on them. Chuckling at knocking on his own homes doors, a deal is a deal and from now on, this is HER side of the home, no longer his.

He waits:

<small>[[this comes from the Wiki and was a collaboration between Ivan and Zoya. Amana was reborn as Zoya Bocharov and Viracocha as Ivan Sarkozy]]</small>

Meso-America

Many of the gods of Meso-America made the lives of their people miserable. Aside from the usual domination and exploitation, some of the Mayan Lords of the Underworld, called Xibalba, would cruelly challenge the people to Ollamaliztli, the Meso-American ballgame. The game was difficult and the stakes high. The team that lost the game also lost their heads. And yet players had no choice to do their best against beings for whom the 9 pound rubber ball moved through the air as if by magic. One-Death and Seven-Death, in particular, were especially avid players and enjoyed victory after victory.The other Mayan Lords had their own fun playing “tricks” on people.

South America


In South America, though, some of the gods were much more benevolent. Amana, in particular, was a mysterious goddess who inhabited the river valleys of Venezuela. She deeply cared for her people and made sure they were safe from outside threats. Among her tools was an ancient object she'd discovered, an artifact that could be activated by her power. It subtly shifted the region it was in so that it was no longer exposed to outsiders. It was a hidden realm.

Gradually the villages she watched over became the stuff of legend. A person could walk along the river and catch partial glimpses of homes and smoke, but when approached, there would be nothing there. Other travelers told of taking a particular path and suddenly finding the jungle strangely different. One could walk for hours and seem only to move a short distance. Whenever such travelers inevitably turned back to leave that bewitched place, it seemed like almost immediately they were back in their normal forest where they had begun their journey. But the strangest thing of all was that though some claimed to have only walked for a short time of minutes or hours, when they came out they found that days or weeks had passed. Legends grew about these lands and the goddess who watched over them.

Further southwest lay the mighty Inca empire, founded and ruled over by Viracocha. Viracocha had been born in a tiny village by the sea. He taught his people to domesticate the native alpaca and to spin their wool into fibers. He taught them the quipu, the corded strings to record the stories of his people. He showed them the potatoes and oca and how to store these to get them through the lean times. But in all this time, Viracocha never took a mate.

That continued to be true for many years until one day Viracocha himself was on a trip through Venezuela's river valleys and came upon that enchanted jungle. As he walked up the river he began to feel to the strange effects. He refused to leave, though, wanting to understand this strange phenomenon. He pressed on until at last he came to a village. The people were frightened. They had seen no outsiders in centuries. Runners were sent and beautiful Amana showed herself to him. She was stronger than he was and took him her captive. She wanted to learn what threat he represented to her people. His interrogation became conversation as the weeks went by. And gradually Viracocha become her captive no longer, but rather her friend and then her lover.

They were bonded to each other in the power and in ceremony, their minds and hearts merging into a unity neither thought possible. They were both happy. And yet Viracocha had been gone for what seemed years to his own people. He keenly felt his responsibility until finally he knew he could stay no longer. However, he persuaded Amana to come with him to his own kingdom. When they returned together to the Inca heartland, she was hailed as Mama Qucha, goddess of the sea.

Amana missed the quiet rivers of her home, but found some solace in the endless and peaceful waves of the sea and in her dear Viracocha. Eventually, she bore two sons, Tamusi and Tamula. They were happy. But, as time went by, Amana too felt her people's need. She could not abandon them simply for her own happiness' sake. Painful as it was, she decided to return home, taking their two sons. She would spend part of the year watching over her lands, and part of the year with Viracocha; a painful arrangement for them both. For Viracocha, those months she spent at her home amounted to years without her and his sons. But they were gods, and their responsibilities were more important than their needs. It was enough that they had the time together they did.

Many of the gods of South America were similar to Amana and Viracocha. These watched over their people, or at least, did not torment them; and so, the people were content.


The Lords of Xibalba and Civil War


If it were not for the Lords of Xibalba and a foolish game, things would have stayed that way. One-Death and Seven-Death had become jealous of the growing influence of One-Hunahpu and Seven-Hunahpu. These younger gods were powerful and discovered many new uses of the power. They even walked the land of Xibalba, the Underworld itself, the world of dreams. and which the Lords of Xibalba claimed as their own. Many battles in that world were fought and the people lived nightmares as they slept, some never to awake. Finally, One Death and Seven Death challenged One Hunahpu and Seven Hunahpu to the ballgame with their lives as the prize. With the secret aid of Seven Macaw, One Death and Seven Death defeated the two gods and their heads were taken in victory.

But One Hunahpu had two sons, Xblanque (“Jaguar Sun”) and Hunahpu. These gods were powerful, having been taught all they knew by their father and uncle, and they wanted revenge. They rallied many other younger gods to their sides. The Age of the Lords of Xibalba and the other older gods was over. It was time for a newer generation to rule. The ensuing war spread from Xibalba into the real world and the land grew bloody as it was wracked by battles. The chaos spread across Meso-America, as Aztec and Tlaxacalan gods followed the Mayan rift and split along lines of age, gender, or anything else that hid resentment and envy, hatred and lust. Thus, fire spread across Meso-America.


Civil War in South America


The gods of South America looked uneasily at the chaos to the north. Refugees poured across the isthmus into their lands, seeking shelter and relief. Amana and her sons were with Viracocha at the time when the news of the refugees reached them. Amana, along with Tamusi and Tumula, immediately began their journey home, to protect her homeland. Viracocha could not leave his people undefended, however, and stayed behind.

He attempted to rally the other South American gods to take preemptive steps to keep the chaos from spreading. But he did not realize that the gods in the south were just as susceptible to the lure of ambition and opportunity for vengeance. Not all of them, true. But enough. Viracocha watched in sadness as his own land fell into the chaos. People tried to escape the ensuing carnage and Viracocha begged Amana to take his people. And she, his dear beloved wife, opened her lands.

Amana, along with Tamusi and Tamula, used their power to modify the device that created their protected realm. The object was pressed far beyond its limits and required constant control by Amana and her sons to keep it running safely. They divided the day into three shifts and each took turns. And yet the refugees just kept coming and the device was strained further

Viracocha fought the other gods, trying to stem the chaos that was spreading. Two goddesses, Mama Killa and Pachamama, hated Viracocha. Long ago he'd banished them from his lands when he discovered them exploiting his people. These two brought forth giants and monsters to wreak havoc and to defeat Viracocha. He defeated them by releasing the waters of Lake Titicaca and causing the great flood Unu Pachakuti. But the waters had done great damage.

The Death of Amana


The refugees continued to pour into Amana's lands as she and her sons strained to keep the machinery running. Sadly, it had never been designed to protect so large an area over such a long period of time. The northern half of the entire continent had been shifted and contained inside a bubble, but that bubble was tenuous and fragile. Finally, it could stay stable no longer. It popped! The ensuing back-blast killed Amana, Tamusi, and Tamula in an instant, reverting those protected lands to normalcy.

Viracocha felt their deaths hundreds of leagues away and his heart died in that moment. He drew on the Power in rage and grief and threw all his might at those gods that had taken his family and spread death and destruction across the once beautiful and peaceful land. But, in doing so, even as he killed them, Viracocha drew too much of the power and burned himself out. The loss of the power, however, was as nothing compared to the devastation felt in his heart.

Dead inside, Viracocha found himself back in the small fishing village that had seen his birth. There he was killed by a man; a man who had lost his own family in the violence; a man who had been taught that one day the gods would begin to oppress the people; a man that believed it was time for men to defeat the gods. This man and others who followed that tradition, took advantage of the chaos. Soon the people were warring directly with the gods, and eventually, after decades and centuries, the gods were defeated.

Epilogue


Still, the memory of those gods remained. People passed on the stories and remembered their deeds. Yet, as with all stories that test the passing of time, details were changed and facts forgotten. Amana’s story spread from Venezuela to the Guyanas as her people moved out across the land. She became the eternal goddess of the rivers, thought by the Cariña Caribs to protect her people as she cooled the fearsome heat of the sun each night. It was said that her sons helped her with this task.

Many legends spread about Viracocha. Some credited him with the creation of mindless giants that displeased him. In these legends, he used the flood to rid the world of these beasts and start the world and life anew. He then sent his sons Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo to bring civilization to the rest of the world. In other stories, his sons were named Imahmana and Tocapo.

In the end, Viracocha was said to have walked across the waters, disappearing on the horizon the Great Ocean to he wander the earth disguised as a beggar, teaching his new creations civilization and working miracles. Some still believe that Viracocha will return in a time of trouble.


Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Jun 23 2016, 09:46 AM.

Pain.

Pain flashed everywhere. Set - it had been Set. Osiris couldn't believe it even so. Osiris knew his brother's heart was dark, but he still didn't believe that Set could do this.

Pain - even as he breathed. Each breath hurt. Each breath brought exhaustion. Osiris didn't even try to use his magic. He knew he couldn't stop this. Maybe someone else could be he couldn't.

Osiris saw her. His Isis, always so beautiful. He wondered if she was really there or just a hallucination. His hand reached out to her, almost too weak to do so. And before she grabbed her hand, everything went black.

((Any Atharim is welcome to pop in. Regus and the Archangels probably need to make an appearance and Aria will be.))

Martin was going over reports in his office when his wallet buzzed with a new alert. He gave a silent sigh as he set down the paper and picked up the electronic device and flipped the screen to the alert. His eyes went wide as he watched the declaration of Apolyon. He should be dead, was the only thought running through his head.

And the minute the word Atharim slipped from the man's power-filled mouth Martin was sending an urgent text to the god-forsaken little whelp of a girl who was supposed to be killing the greatest power in the world. He smirked at the thought of her taking on Ascendancy himself. It was something he dreamed of nightly. Watching her boil and burn like the monster that she was only to die so he could use her to gain intel. Yes, that was his plan.

The text was simple Here! Now!

He didn't expect her to show up immediately. Martin had plenty of time to wait for the whelp and think about what he was going to say to her. He had a mission to plan, the paperwork on his desk was all but forgotten. He needed to decide the best course of action after sending the girl to her death.

Martin walked out of his office towards the armory. We have to have something that can do the job.

The West wing was part of a beautiful, restoreed Brownstone. What no one knew it had entrances to the labyrinth below and his own secret study down in the undercity. From the top a Well to do Captain of the "Storm Cloud", below just another lost soul.


Having moved the most promising of the scrimshaw up to his study he had them arranged in almost a perfect geological order. Synjyn had spent weeks arranging and rearranging the scrimshaw into to a story. Some pieces dated back before recorded history, a true written record not know to exist about the time before time.

Mumbling a few words could be made out: the women give chills to the men? Burning fever at the child's change, village destruction, young killed as witches, older worshiped, older dies suddenly, no trace,
The story tumbled on.

Stopping he lite a Cigar and poured a dram of stout whiskey. none of made sense. Some killed, some worshiped, some lived some died? His sister died and he lived, maybe it made more sense than he thought.

Some knew the answers but he was sure they knew not all. This is not new, it is old come new again!


Even tho he hadn't finished reading he started over. With note pad in hand he set off to add detail to his growing knowledge.


Edited by Manix, Aug 26 2016, 12:37 PM.

You give me more fodder now I love the idea.

I do have a question tho. I get the reincarnated gods have easy stories to start from, but what about our other's who aren't reincarnated gods? I don't believe all souls are reincarnated in the wheel of time, other wise there wouldn't be heroes of the horn necessarily.

Can our mundane non-gods do things like ancesters? ie: Aria's ancestors date back to the time of the god wars. Could I say write one of them?

Some big announcement was on the way from the Kremlin. The CCD owned media outlet was set up with as much pomp and circumstance as they did when news was last released about the procurement of a new Dominion. Some theorized such was the case now: Australia perhaps was rather inert and easy to sweep into CCD control; or maybe South America's volatile state was finally ripe for reaping.

The Ascendancy's symbol was everywhere; all the reporters were drowning in the orange and black glow. Whispers were thick as well. Nobody really speculated a Dominion was joining the Custody; however, something was happening.

"Good evening,"
the direct voice of the Ascendancy began, and all ears, here and around the globe, were tuned to listen.

"There has been speculation of late regarding the unusual phenomena we have observed for some time now. Reports began to intensify following the campaign in Dominance V. Afterward, similar scenarios were reported around the world on both the large and small scale. Most recently, a threat was positioned at Moscow itself in the form of a troubled young man seeking to gain our attention. He succeeded, although he lost his life to do so. Too many lives have been lost so far. Death is not something I covet for our enemies; I never have. It is time we take a more direct action to prevent further tragedies."


He paused to take a breath, but if he was unsteady, it was only to be seen by the passage of still seconds. The breath before the storm to be unleashed.

"Allegations of magic; of powers unseen by some and experienced most intimately by others; stories that defy science and logic. They are all true."

"There are young men and women among us with the capability to wield these powers. Some use them at will, others are oblivious to their connections and strike out blind and accidental. There are individuals with mal-intent and individuals pure of heart."

"The ramifications of this discovery are yet to be known; but the CCD is committed to understanding the dangers these individuals may pose and safe-guarding the population as needed."


The room, indeed the world, was frozen with shock. Less so that these rumors were true, but more that the government was admitting their truth. But for what was to come next, the earth was about to shake in comparison.

"These individuals are always young men and women; approximately thirty years or younger. They may be your neighbors, your friends, or your family. They are linked to the Sickness, and the Sickness linked to their genetics. Thus, it is believed the infection is not an infection at all, but rather a manifestation of these powers poisoning their system until it acclimates. Some individuals survive this process; others succumb."

"And I am one of them."
The bomb dropped. He met the eyes of those that stared back, unable to divert their gazes. Unable to do much at all but stare.

"I will take your questions."

The worst feeling in the world for Aria was not feeling anything at all. Everything had happened so fast. Manix's offer, her father was dead, everything was just too much on top of the emptiness that she felt inside. She didn't like being in the empty East Wing of her supposed new home. It was perfectly acceptable, not as nice as her room in the warehouse that Nox had built and Lucas' mural was not nothing but ash.

The sadness gripped Aria tightly as she walked through the streets of Moscow looking for anything to feel other than the grief inside.

It wasn't just the grief Aria was fighting away. It was the darkness inside. It welled up into every pore wanting escape. She could feel the slimey texture of her own evil inside wanting to get out - to kill, to seek blood. It wasn't hard to remember how Lucas made her feel. She could remember every feeling.

That was the worst part, there was nothing but her memories. She experienced nothing but what she remembered. No one was projecting at her. Aria was certain there were lovers in some of the buildings. That there were criminal acts being preformed in the alleys. A couple fighting in the heights above - she could year the yelling from the street, but she felt nothing. Emptiness was worse than feeling everything.

It was a new weight, a new hatred of herself. This was what normal felt like. Aria hated it. For ever moment she hated what she was, she hated this even more. What the fuck had he done to her? What gave him the right? What made him think that he could mess with her brain without any knowledge of what he was doing to her?

The questions spurred her anger and the darkness floated outside the empty bubble that was Aria. She hadn't realized she'd reached for the bubble when the world outside was nothing. She felt nothing, and the bubble had come with no effort at all. It was a minor comfort walking through Moscow's cold streets. She couldn't stay mad at her host, he had saved her life after all. She couldn't disregard that fact but she was angry at what he'd done. He ripped her whole reason for being alive from her, the only thing that kept her useful was now gone. What the fuck was she going to do?

(anyone is welcome to jump in)

Hey all -

I've been trying to get back into writing, but it's been difficult to get back into characters mindsets and recently everything I write kind of sucks (at least in my perspective). I should hopefully be back to writing soon - bear with me if it takes a bit to respond.

(Think you guys are only waiting for Jared...)

It has nothing to do with the Wheel of Time, but it has to do with RPing so I'd thought I'd share.

http://www.whothefuckismydndcharacter.com/

This is a favorite roll that I got:

CONCEITED TIEFLING MONK FROM A DESERT TOWN HIDDEN INSIDE A SANDSTORM WHO HAS A DEBILITATING FEAR OF WIDE OPEN SPACES