Tears scorched her cheek as she ran, the air hot in her throat, now raw from grief and anger. Her brother's strangled cries still rang in her ears, loud enough to drown the sounds of the uprising all around her. She was the only one left, of all those that had broken through the gates, she had run the farthest fleeing as her friends and kin had sacrificed themselves so that she might put an end to this. Her heart pound in her breast, the air cool on the skin as she ran, eyes still streaming.

None of it felt real, the bloodshed, the loss. The only thing she could still feel was the tired ache of her body and the Khopesh hanging from the back of her bodice. It did not feel real, the knowledge she was running to her death. If the only consolation was to be that she would see her loved ones again, then she would welcome death, knowing the attempt had been made.

It felt as if their suffering had been in vain, but the attempt must be made.

Iyara heard the metal pounding of boots and she tried to stop. Her sandals, cinched tight as they may be, did little to slow her run. They slipped as she attempted to stop, the fine marble of the palace unfamiliar beneath them and she tumbled, landing hard and rolling, a bruising fall that sent a fresh ache through her body. She lay there a moment, nearly sobbing, heart hammering as her breast was pressed flat beneath her on the cool stone.

She stifled a wail, her nose running, terrified it would end like this, that she would be cut down like everyone else she had known. Suddenly, she knew, no matter the horrible hollow ache of being alone, she wasn't actually eager to join them in the afterlife. If that's even where they were.

It seemed unlikely a paradise awaited those who sought to kill their god.

Panting, she pushed herself up, the tangle of her linen skirt wrapped about her legs. She could still hear the soldiers approaching and she scrambled to her feet, throwing herself against the nearest door as hard as she could. In seemingly the only fit of fortune she'd had that day, the door crumpled open and she crashed into the dark interior of the room. Shock stunned her for precious seconds before she thought to kick the door closed.

Huddled there, in the darkness, Iyara fought a lifetime of teachings. She'd wanted to thank Azeuk for her fortune, but that felt wrong in every way. It was his doing that had cost her a family. It was his doing that Ranong had slowly withered into a desperate husk. Where were Azeuk's blessings as people starved? As they died of the plague and marauders upon the borders? Why had he forsaken his people while the priests and nobles had grown more and more powerful?

Where was justice?

Iyara drew the Khopesh and held it in trembling hands. It was there, those ebon blades promised justice. Iyara swallowed and fought back a sob. Could a mortal hand really slay a god? Was this just a futile mission? An elaborate way to escape the misery of life? If she died... who would be left to mourn all the others?

She heard the handle of her blades creak in her grasp and felt her anger rise. If it would be, so be it. Warmth flooded her limbs and strength drew her back to her feet. Her breath shook, not with fear, but the fury of a scorned people. And if she were to die today, let it be spitting in god's eye.

The hall was silent as she pressed her ear to the door. The sound of violence had grown far distant now and the sound of the door grinding open seemed far too loud. Trembling, Iyara left the shadows of her sanctuary and began walking through the palace. An odd calm had descended on her, a resolution settling in her step. No more tears were shed as she marched towards the throne room and all she saw were the fleeing forms of servants, dressed not unlike herself. On second thought, she wore garb of a better station, at least.

As a merchant's daughter, she was unaware of the worst of Ranong's suffering in the days of her youth. She did not know suffering until famine took her mother. She had grown weak so that her children would be fed and finally she passed, wringing a promise from father that they would know safety. It has hurt their family, but true to his weird, father began to teach his children to be safe. Iyara has learned from the caravan guards how to use a blade and survive in the wilds. She had slain her first coatl before she was an adult. She had slain her first man not long after that.

He had been a marauder, scarcely older than she had been. At the time, she had hated him, scared for her life, but she had since learned what kind of desperation had driven him. Walking through the palace, she thought herself no better now.

They had not been that desperate until her little brother died. Food had grown even scarcer, but it has been the plague that claimed him. Iyara and her family mourned their loss, but refused to join the rebellion even after the caravan guards had. Without protection, they could not travel, and if they could not travel, they could not earn a living.

It was not until the stranger came that they had finally been convinced. He'd had eyes the color of sand and seemed unable to stay still as he spoke. He had convinced them there was only one way to end it.

It was an odd time for rejection, but the knowledge she might die seemed to have that effect on her. She approached the inner sanctum, head held high and the beads in her hair dancing as she strode in, all caution abandoned.

She entered with the authority of someone far greater than a merchant's daughter, carrying herself with the grace of a warrior queen, no matter the modesty of her dress. The simple skirt that ended below her exposed breasts seemed the finest silk, the bodice cinched around her waist an armored breast plate.

The throne room was massive, a sweeping circular room ringed by columns holding up a dome that matched the sky so perfectly she could almost swear she saw the clouds rolling by. Everywhere she looked was polished marble and gilt sandstone.

There, against the far wall, the golden throne she was seeking and her god atop it. Azeuk's size matched that of the room, an immense golden armored figure, a proud falcon shaped helm fit above his visage. His massive wings were folded behind him and the only part of this flesh she could see were the dark talons that she could glimpse beneath the myriad rings on his hands.

He seemed to glower at her from his distant perch, blank staring eyes taking her in. She felt her heretic's hatred redouble as she stared at him. His head tilted just slightly, as if he finally noticed the naked blades in her hands. And in a voice almost too quiet to hear, he asked her one question.

"Are you here to kill me?"

The supreme being slowly raised his arms, thick talons curled over his helmet and he pulled. Iyara readied her khopesh, but nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen, and finally she realized the god-king was struggling to remove his helm.

Cautiously she approached, but still he struggled. She expected him to rise up to his full magnificent height, wings blazing as they spread, but he remained seated even as she stood looking up at him.

She cautiously climbed the stairs to throne, sliding the blades back into the sheathes in the back of her bodice as she stood next to him. Carefully, she reached up and pulled the helm off, finding it cumbersome, but not so that it should cause so much trouble. As it came free, she began to understand.

Her heart warred with itself, caught between her hatred, her devotion, and her confusion. She swallowed hard as she looked upon the naked face of her god, and though confused, she unexpectedly felt pity more than anything else.

She had assumed those blank eyes were clouded by divinity, too far seeing to focus on so small a thing, nothing escaping his sight. But he was practically blind, his eyes clouded over with age. His feathers were a shamble, molted away in spots, and what she could see of him looked frail, at total odds with the imposing figure of the great gleaming armor he sat in.

"Y-you are Azeuk, are you not?" She asked, her voice thick with emotion and still raw with the tragedies she'd endured. "My god?"

"I was a god, once." He answered, his voice soft and thready. She had expected it to be overpowering, booming and capable of shaking her to her core. She did not know what to make of this, of any of this.

A dawning horror set in as she stood there. One that told her all the suffering her people had endured could not be blamed on an indifferent, mighty god ignoring the small beings that worshipped him. That what she saw now was a dying god, unable to care for his people. Unable, seemingly, to even care for himself.

"I was a god. I'd been so powerful, so perfect for so long that I think I might have forgotten it had not always been that way." He began, leaning his head back to rest upon the throne's cushion. "I don't remember much, any more, from before I fled the Cabal, but I'd grown so tired of the war. All I wanted was to protect something, to care for it. It was a penance, of a kind, for the terrible things I'd done. I'd done them in the name of protecting something, but I don't remember what that was, before the war. I think I had been protecting something..."

Iyara stumbled back, numb to this revelation. The heavy helm tumbled from her deadened fingers and she nearly fell herself. Her hatred had sustained her, but it had gone, unable to cope with the truth.

"In those days, planeswalkers could stride across eternity, wield creation as we saw fit, nothing could stand against us!" Azeuk bellowed, the exertion leaving him panting.

"What are... Planeswalkers?" Iyara asked, the haze of her condition latching onto the unfamiliar in a desperate attempt to understand.

"We were gods." Azeuk's brow furrowed and he stared blindly into the clouds on the dome far overhead. "Those of us that wished to be. We were free, omnipotent, before it all went away..."

"There are others?" Iyara's mind reeled.

"No, no. Just me. Ronong was mine, I'd take care of it. But yes, there were others, elsewhere, the other worlds." Azeuk seemed to ramble, but the words of her god sent chills into her soul. Something felt wrong beneath her skin, a sensation she couldn't describe as her mind came close to breaking at the implications of what he had said.

"Ronong was mine, yes. I'd take care of it." The bird tilted his head again, concern plain in his inhuman features. "I did a good job, didn't I?"

The woman couldn't bring herself to answer him. A part of her missed the hate she'd felt, the familiar ache in her chest. She wanted to scream at him for his crimes...

"The priests always told me I'd done well. I remember a time when I know I'd done well. Everyone was fed, there were no sick, I used my magic so no one had to suffer, I gave them everything they ever desired..."

She watched as he looked down at his talons, knowing he was looking at something she couldn't see. She watched as his gaze turned sad.

"It was all so beautiful... So perfect, just like me... Until it all went so wrong." The mottled patches of his feathers puffed out in distress."I felt it, when it went away. My strength just flew away. Every day I grew weaker still, and I tried that much harder, but it was never enough. I was... limited and growing smaller with every breath. Without my strength, it all began to fall apart, but they told me no one could know. It would be pandemonium if they knew. "

"What do you mean? Who did this?" Iyara asked quietly, unable to know what to feel.

Zeuk's head snapped up in surprise, as if seeing her for the first time. His feathers swelled again as he leaned back to look at her.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Iyara. You were telling me a story." She said gently, though there was a darkness in her voice, pain laced in her compassion.

"I-I was? I'm so sorry, I lose track sometimes. What was I saying?"

"You were saying they told you nobody could know what had happened. After everything went wrong."

"Oh... oh yes. They tried to help after that, but even together they weren't strong enough, but they said nobody would notice as long as they couldn't see it. They built this armor so nobody could see me." The feathers along his cheeks shivered and he reached up to his face. "Oh... I seem to have lost the helmet..."

"The priests did this to you." Iyara said, more to herself than to her god.

"They helped me, yes. Though it's been some time now and I'm getting so very tired... but they said their magic would keep me strong enough, as long as there was faith, that would be my strength. Nothing could hurt me so long as the faith was strong... But I'm feeling so very tired now..."

Iyara looked at the vestige of her god and though anger still seethed in her very soul, she could not direct it at Azeuk. She felt sorry for him, as much so as those who'd died today trying to kill him.

"You should rest, my god-king." She said sadly, once more ascending the dias to stand at the right hand of her god. "If you rest, your troubles won't bother you any longer."

"Yes... that sounds nice. Just a small rest, to regain my strength." He reached up and pat her cheek, a patrician smile on his avian face. "Maybe I'll regain some strength if I rest, and I can return to my work. There's so much to do..."

"Just rest, Azeuk. Dream of protecting your people." She took his massive hand in hers, squeezing lightly as she drew the khopesh with her other hand and watched as her god nodded and closed his tired eyes.

Jai wearily scowled, pain in his eyes at the devastation laid bare in the courtyard. Blood slicked the stone and bodies were slowly being moved in the wake of the insurrection. Off to the side, they were being stacked like bricks against the wall. Thousands of them building a grim rampart, but the work would go on for days. Even now, they were lighting the pyres to burn the bodies, sanctifying the flames of a few for the guards who had fallen to protect their god.

It would take days, weeks perhaps, to dispose of the dead. Jai hoped that the flames would offer the comfort of rest, even to the apostates that had attacked them. No matter what they'd suffered in life, their woes were over now. The problems of the living remained, and they were far greater. The priest walked along his path, turning along the walls of the palace until he came to the masses gathered there, on their knees and held there by spearpoint. They were the greater problem.

The survivors.

It was not enough to put them to trial, though they would be tried. No, it was that they had risen against their lord to begin with. They were ungrateful for the blessings they had, but deep down, Jai knew why they'd gone to such lengths. The kingdom was falling, despite everything the priesthood did, without Zeuk's miracles, it was all falling apart.

They'd been blessed for too long, forgotten too much of what they needed to survive and the people struggled to remember what life required of them before their god had become their provider. Jai silently cursed the priests before him for their ruse, too drunk on their authority to admit their god could falter and then too desperate to let the truth to come out. His knuckles creaked on the bone grip of his staff, cursing their entire lineage for what they'd done to Ronong and the god he'd devoted his life to. He hoped they felt the heat of his anger in their afterlife, hotter than the flames that had ushered them there.

Even knowing his god was dying, Jai loved Zeuk with all his heart, wishing nothing more than to know what he had been like at the height of his power. Yet, he'd been born in the wrong era, forced to cope with the decline of the empire. The famine, the insurrection, the... lies.

Jai sighed and shook his head as a captain approached. The man crossed his arms in salute and Jai opened his palm in answer. Until they knew more, Jai was the highest ranked priest they had found. Which meant every problem from now on was his problem...

"How many men did we lose? How many did we capture?"

"We aren't sure how many were lost, but it was at least cohort."

"So many?" Jai gasped and the look on the captain's face was grim answer enough.

"We can likely replenish a good deal our ranks from among the captives. There are enough that will probably swear fealty again if we hold them prisoner. Some will choose execution for their heresy, but many are simply more hungry than they are angry."

"They are angry because they have been lied to. Angry men are known to do foolish things." Jai exhaled, worrying at the menat he wore. "Do you believe they can be saved?"

The captain looked skeptical, but eventually began to slowly nod. "Those who will work to be fed. The rest... will have to be put to the pyre. If there is any consolation, the grim calculus will measure out. We can at least feed those we can recruit."

"Has the palace been secured?" the priest asked, realizing he dreaded the answer as he finally placed the captain.

"Sire?"

"You're with the Cuauhtli Guard, aren't you? If you're here, the palace is secured, yes?"

"They breached the palace proper, we were drawn from our post."

"Gather the platoon, I do not like leaving Azeuk alone. Quickly!" Jai snapped, immediately marching towards the stairs. He ignored the bodies draped across the steps in his haste, anxious to know his god was untended. His anxiety only grew as he walked the halls, seeing the wounded and dead so deep in the palace. The blood pooled on the exquisite stone floors, making them more treacherous than they were while freshly polished.

The priest only slowed as he found hall after hall as he remembered, unmarred by intrusion. He slowed further still as he heard the approach of the Cuauhtli Guard, fully armed and without casualty at a glance. Jai's breathing had nearly returned to normal as they approached the great hall, the massive golden doors... unsecured?

Jai stopped, nodding to the nearest pair of soldiers to fling the doors open. The thunder of the doors shaking against the wall seemed even louder in the silence following. Everyone stopped breathing, the only sound the weak beating of their hearts as they stared up the dais at the crumpled form of their deity... and the small figure standing at the foot of the stairs covered in his blood.

She was young, though no child, and a distant far gazing look was stuck on her face as she peered up at the clouds scattered over the dome overhead. She had the look they all did, of someone suddenly empty and adrift. Blood dripped from the curve of her khopesh and her clothes were soaked dark red. Her face, chest, shoulders, all were covered in divine blood and there, grasped numbly in her other hand was Azeuk's golden helmet.

Jai stumbled into the throne room, the world suddenly confused. It could not be as it appeared, but as he neared, his denial weakened, a fury rising in its wake. He tossed down his staff as he ran up the stairs of the dais, the Cuauhtli Guard surrounding the young woman, who seemed finally to realize she was not alone. The broad leaf shaped blades of the spearheads ringed her and her lips pressed to a grim line.

Jai looked on the face of his god for the first time and was aghast to see the ravaged features. He swallowed and tried to put away the image of peace on Azeuk's divine visage. Pain twisted his innards before he set those aside too, mind already whirring with his next moves.

Nobody could know. In some ways... nothing had changed. The priests would merely have to become... more creative. The peace must be maintained, the lie perpetuated.

He glanced down at the woman, resigned to her fate.

"Did he die well?"

"In his sleep. I don't think he felt a thing..."

"That is a small comfort then." Jai sighed and his expression hardened. "Kill her."

She closed her eyes and nodded, knowing she would be reunited with her family then. The guardsmen's spears thrust forward with brutal efficiency, a dozen lethal points seeking her life....

And virtually nothing happened.

No further blood was spilled. The edges of the spears glanced off in a shower of sparks. The tableau froze once more and confusion crept over her brow until her eyes opened once more, confused as she looked down at herself.

The guards drove their spears at her again and she flinched, but again, she lived. A hesitant murmur rolled through the guard and they grew nervous. Iyara grew further confused, heaving breaths swelling her breast as she stared at her flesh as if it had betrayed her, kept some horrifying secret from her.

Jai's mouth hung agape until it finally dawned on him with a gasp.

"Azeuk's blood..."

"What?" Iyara murmured as she felt the entire world turn upon her again, that unfamiliar crawling sensation beneath her skin blooming into a burning heat that flared in her breast. Light spilled from her eyes, her throat, and she was wrenched through the veil of Ronong, flung from the world of her birth...

Jai stared at the scorch upon the floor where the woman had stood, his mouth dry and eyes growing wet. He brushed the tears from his face and spoke up.

"She's dead. Lock the doors. Let no one in. There's work to be done." The Cuauhtli Guard wasted no time, bowing to the priest unquestioned. He had plans to put into motion, things that must happen for Ronong to recover... Nobody could know Azeuk had died, everyone must think the woman had... but in his heart, he knew she very likely lived. She had not died, Azeuk hadn't risen to smite her, though it would be the lie the guard would get... No, she had planeswalked, and the gods have mercy on her...

Good story. I liked the middle section the best, largely for personal reasons. I'm pretty sure you ran the idea for this story, or at least character, by me a while back, but I had largely forgotten about it, and things didn't click for me until that second section. The first section rubbed me the wrong way just a bit, but it had nothing to do with the writing or the story or anything, it's just the whole "god-killer" thing bugs me. Too many JRPGs defaulting to it, I think. But again, that was before the reveal.

Obviously, I have a great appreciation for seeing another slant on the "We were gods once" speech, and pretty much everything with the characterization of Azeuk is great. He hits a number of themes that I find myself coming back to a lot, such as 'walkers and gods, 'walkers dealing with the ramifications of the Mending, and 'walkers dealing with extreme old age and death. It's really good stuff and really affecting.

I think the third scene is good, and Jai's rubber-banding emotions regarding Azeuk and Ronong is a fun effect, showing himself at least partially serious in his devotion, but pragmatic in his view of what is happening. His willingness to not only buy into but also perpetuate the lies surrounding Azeuk paints him in an interesting morale light. I was a little thrown off by him thinking of his god as "Zeuk" rather than "Azeuk." I assume the intent was to show that he is more like a "friend" to the god than a true devotee, but I'm not sold on the overall effect. I personally found it more distracting than affecting.

I'm likewise not sold on Iyara's power set, which seems to be invincibility? Part of it is that I just don't like indestructible characters in general, but I'm also not sold on the in-story description of it: "She could not feel heat nor cold. The ravages of blade or spell." If the wards the priests put on Azeuk make the blood immune to the ravages of blades, how does Iyara cut him to begin with? I assume the answer ties in to the mysterious stranger (I have some theories on who that may be, but my guess keeps shifting around...) who I'm guessing gave her the khopesh, which is maybe enchanted? It wasn't clear. On a minor note, I also found it odd that Iyara's name was dropped in the third section, which was a third person limited POV tied to Jai, so it seemed off to give info he wouldn't have.

Overall, though, I like the story, and I like the idea of a planeswalker going around killing other planeswalkers who are pretending to be gods. Of course, considering I have at least three planeswalker characters who are considered gods on their planes...



Thanks for posting, Barinellos!

yeah, this is a character I've had something on the back burner for a while, but I never found the push necessary to commit to it until a bit ago. Beyond the character herself, I had a fair amount of fun cludging Ring together out of various elements.

I definitely wanted to play with subversions of the fake god motif, partly with that idea that he had been a deity that really had cared and wanted his people to be happy, rather than really desiring the adulation or authority, but clearly, he demonstrated some rather poor, of well meaning choices.

As to Jail calling him Zeuk, that was honestly a typo. So, it wasn't meant to have an effect or anything. However, I'll take the mistake as a compliment! If you thought it was purposeful, then I'd clearly hooked you.

Iyara's power is not like Gideon's indestructibility, but admittedly I understand how careful we'd have to be about it. Rather than indestructibility, she has protection. Including all the crazy rules baggage that comes with, but the flip side is even beneficial effects won't work. Other than that, she's a relatively decent fighter and nothing else.

I'm leaving a bit about what happened a mystery for now and how she bypassed the wards.

I suspect this is either autocorrect or slang I'm not familiar with, but "cludging Ring?"


Yeah, I really like this aspect of the story. Azeuk really does feel like a powerful and well-meaning person, albeit a naive one.


I suppose so, but it happens twice relatively close together in the beginning of "The Priest" section, and your stories usually don't have many serious typos, so I was inclined to assume it was intentional.


I mean, ultimately, I trust you to make stories about her interesting, but you know how I am with "Superman" characters. While I don't think this story itself drifts all that closely to Superman-level powers, those couple of lines near the end, especially out of context of how the character is going to be done, are just a red flag for me. It is also combined with the statement of having killed a dozen "gods" early in the piece, which contextualizes the immunity to blades and spells in a potentially dangerous way. In that aspect, the character reminds me a bit of Clade, who is both immune to magic AND is a troll and therefore regenerates. Of course, Ruwin designed Clade to be a top-tier threat, and with her lack of active magic, I don't necessarily get the sense that Iyara was designed that way.

Of course, if she's an Oldwalker hunter, she would need to be at least somewhat powerful or she would just be squashed, so there needs to be some degree of balance there anyway.

Autocorrect
"cludging together Ronong"

There are some weird elements glued together for it. Which was fun, partly to see if I could appropriately evoke the shape of the plane without digging into tons of detail.


I think the naivete is a product of both power and age.
You start to stop questioning things when you get to a certain unopposable power level.


It was an artifact of the initial script that squeeked through is all.


Iyara is much more comparable to an ambush predator, but there's a certain implacable nature to her will. She has spent years dedicated to her cause. Having the body count she does also contextualizes that the one we see in the story is not who she is now.

But there's a downside as well, since the wards are so strong, her senses* are dulled, so she's kind of had to relearn how to... well, people all over again.

*Sight and Sound being the primary exception... kind of.

About the story:
-I feel like the first scene could do with some polishing. The POV doubting what she herself is doing while the reader is trying to get their footing in the story leads to some awkwardness, and I've found myself lightly oversold on all the misery around. Before the egyptian-like trappings piled up too high, I thought we were in the Aliavelli revolts for a while... and then I thought of Kahr, because his divine titles are not that different. (THAT would be an interesting meeting for sure)
-The core narrative I appreciate a lot, the oldwalker deity who is honestly well-meaning and the Mending becoming a tragedy for his realm as well as his power fails to protect his subjects, and the priesthood that seeks to keep hope and unity from crumbling through denial and deceit. While he has been described as naive, I can believe the crushing responsibility/guilt that drove Azeuk to accept the priests' proposal for the slim chance to keep protecting his kingdom as a figurehead.
(I perked up when I read the Cabal name-drop for obvious reasons. And protecting something before that? I'm very intrigued)

About the character herself:
-I like the godslaying angle (she may be one of the few characters that could get along with Jack? Waiting to see her current personality more fleshed out though)
-What kind of protection does she have, rule-wise? Straight up everything? Since she can't be harmed, does that mean she can't be held in place as well? I feel there will be a number of villains that will put the exact limits of her wards to test, but I'm curious now

Thank you for sharing!