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Anwen

Goddess of Stars, Music, and Dreams

0 · 631 views · located in Pandeum

a character in “Deities: The Gods of Pandeum”, as played by Fabricator

Description

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❝ Kiss a lover,
Dance a measure,
Find your name And buried treasure.

Face your life
Its pain, Its pleasure,
Leave no path untaken.❞



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God Name: Anwen

Titles: The Dreamweaver, Star-Kindler, Lady of the Stars, Starsinger, She who Dances

Alignment: Neutral Good

Portfolio: Stars, Music, and Dreams

Patron of: Travellers, astronomers, musicians, dreamers, wanderers, explorers and stargazers

Gender: Female

God Appearance: Anwen is a tall woman, with long gold-white hair which cascades down her back and around her shoulders. Her eyes are bright and full of joy, often with a twinkle in their silvery depths that may reveal a faint glimmer of a persons dreams and desires. Her body looks as if there is a ghostly echo of her every movement which appears as a faint sparkle of glittering light, usually accompanied by a faint music that soothes those around her. This somewhat ethereal look is further enhanced by the pair of sleek white wings that sprout from her back, and several glittering stars which orbit her head like crystals. When she wishes to appear to her followers without arousing suspicion she’ll often disguise herself simply as a mortal girl with feathers woven in her golden hair to mark her true nature.

She may not alter her appearance but how others perceive her may indeed vary since they will often cloak her in their own fantasy to better welcome her into their dreamland.

Personality: Anwen has lived a mostly solitary life since the war between the gods ended but her touch is still felt during large social gatherings or festivals when the sounds of revelry draw her back from the heavens to become lost in the moment and add her voice to euphony around her.
For the most part she feels more at home when she is alone or in the company of the mortal races than she does among the other deities of the world. She will weave between the stars and the dreaming worlds of all creatures as easily as mortals breathe in hopes to bring to each a restful a night as can be obtained. Even so she knows that dreams as in life must contain both good and ill so she welcomes an even balance to her creations for consumption by those of the mortal realm.
Suffering an almost cloying sense of unease when confined she rarely lingers close to the ground and instead is forever on the move, darting across the sky and welcoming her glittering children to the sky as night approaches. Mostly this stems from harsh wounds left by the great conflict when her wings were bound and she was left chained by deities now long since perished. This has left her rather wary of enclosed spaces and almost unable to set foot on solid ground if she can help it, at most hovering inches above it.

Favoured Weapon: Star’s Heart – When Anwen was captured during the Great Conflict she felt herself ill-prepared and once freed sought out Archanian with the dying heart of a star cradled in her hands. The star, which had fallen during her captivity, burned bright in it’s few remaining moments and she bade him forge it into a blade for her. So it was that he made for her a thin bladed to make sure she wouldn’t be taken again.

Opinion of mortals: “When they sing I see the darkness within their hearts, but I also see the hope in their souls for something better.”

God’s Domain: Anwen lives primarily among the stars of the mortal realm, moving amongst them and cultivating their birth, death and rebirth throughout their long lives. Her home here is at the heart of the North Polar Star, Ilúvatar; a name she gave the star upon its birth as it was the first star to appear in the sky. The star itself rests at the heart of a spiral of several other stars which seem to shine different colours throughout the year and have been nicknamed the Jewel of Night by many mortals.
Her true realm however exists within the heart and minds of every living creature in Pandeum, from the mightiest of beasts to the lowliest of the mortal races. The Dreamscape exists as everything and nothing, a swirling sea where reality has no meaning and logic falls by the wayside. She swims through this madness while others simply flounder and to face her in her world is to face your nightmares made flesh.
Sometimes the realm can even appear to possess a sentience and to a certain extent this is true, especially given the various creatures Anwen has gifted life, who now call these worlds home.


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❝ Sometimes you wake up.
Sometimes the fall kills you.

And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.❞


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Avatar Name: Fiona, goes by Fi

Alias: The Fallen Star

Title(s)/Rank:

Avatar Appearance: A slight and slender half-elven girl, looking barely out of her teenage years by human reckoning yet agile and quick witted. She stands at 5’10” with reddish brown wavy hair which hangs down to her shoulders, though she does keep some of it finely braided. Her eyes are a warm and inquisitive turquoise that often inspires others to explore the world. Her clothing is usually fine cloth and leather adorned with a multitude of beads and tassels which swirl and jangle as she dances.

Real Age: Unknown

Visual Age: 19

Personality: Fiona mirrors her mistress in that she rarely remains in one place for too long, often vanishing before morning as she travels onwards to her next destination. Despite her short stays she tends to make them memorable, doing her best to spread tales and songs she’s heard on her travels; doing all she can to spread a sense of imagination and wonderment among all she meets.

Enemies: Dour, sourpuss types who dislike to hear rousing songs and raucous stories told at all hours of the day.

Allies: Rarely is she alone, even if it is but for the length of a dream.

Magic Abilities: Fiona is capable of weaving reality around her in order to bring the mysticism of the Dreamscape to Pandeum. While such moments are usually fleeting glimpses into uncertainty their memory often linger upon those who’ve witnessed them. She will bring such effects into play to provide a backdrop by which to entertain taverns with song and tale. And for all the wondrous displays she may portray her patrons can rest assured that the monsters she calls forth are but temporary. Usually.
As such she is able to conjour a great deal of illusions to confuse any who seek her ill as well as to mask her presence should the need arise and under certain conjunctions she may force her illusions to become real.

Favoured Weapon: Rapier

Realm: While the true nation of Anwen would be her personal domain there is one place in particular where the lines become a little blurred. A simple, almost unassuming public house which exists in one form or another in almost every town or settlement across Pandeum. Their purpose was to ensure that the music of dreams could be heard wherever there would be those able to hear it. Most creatures have seen these places in their travels even if they haven’t given them much attention, especially since they don’t always turn up down the same street twice. It is from this “Emporium” that Fiona often begins her journey and it is here that many of her revelries will often end as well.

So begins...

Anwen's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kurnos, Keeper of Undeath Character Portrait: Astria Character Portrait: Kassius Character Portrait: Symphonia Character Portrait: Dolores Character Portrait: Nike Character Portrait: Anwen
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If knowledge is power then it makes perfect sense to fear the unknown. Not knowing was the difference between the wrong response and the right answer, the difference between life and death. Speaking of Life and Death, this explains why Death is so feared. Who has explored Death and returned to speak of it? Do you truly go to one of the blessed realms or hellscapes belonging to a God? The uncertainty was enough to overwhelm the ponderer in question with dread. Even children so innocent were made to cry whenever they dwell too long on the question of what happens after death, stopping only when given a certain answer by their parents who knew all too well what they said might be a lie. In light of that, immortality seemed the preferable alternative to discovering the answer. Why bother knowing when you will never need to know? Who would ever think it a burden to live forever? The answer...he whose’ burden is as immortal as he. That was the burden given to Argon.

 He wandered the land in ethereal form, hidden from the eyes of all except other ethereals, Gods, and their chosen. His fate had already been written, the path for him had been paved long before he was cursed with immortality, he only needed to walk it. And walk it he did. The benevolent spirit of an Undying Hero, he appeared only in times of great calamity to smite the raising odds. Yet like a vengeful Revenant forbidden from finding true eternal rest, he roamed the lands. Argon had nothing. He could confess to no one and have them say. “I know what it is like.”

 His culture and tradition, his kingdom and his banner, the people he had sworn to live for, he lost them all. The petty squabbling of the Gods had taken his reason to live and now, after so  long, it appeared that they wished to take from him his reason to die. Everywhere he went, he saw suffering. They struggled for nothing and he could not understand how those with omnipotence could not conjure a punishment that only harmed the responsible. To make it worse, he could do nothing. What good would a sword do in these times? What could he shield them from? His spear could keep at bay the armies of neighboring kingdoms but not the hunger that was peaking. What good was one who knew nothing but battle and war in times of famine? Argon continued to roam, it was all he could do but this would pass soon enough. Desperate times often bring violent measures...soon he would have take physical form and become of use to the world.

Without a destination in mind, he continued his eternal march. Days passed. Yet his body did not fatigue. He did not thirst. He did not hunger. He truly was a Revenant. It was his fate and it was the one he had begged for at the feet of his Goddess. He grovelled and wailed like the child he was back then. His pleads were unending and he did not know shame. He poured dirt and dust over himself, he threw himself at her feet and whimpered and cried, the snot pouring from his nose. It was a pathetic sight to behold, his present self blushed when he recalled that moment. Yet it seemed to move her, the Goddess Nike. She truly did favor the underdogs or perhaps it was because unlike all the others who asked for Herculian strength or prowess in battle or even their own safe return from the frontlines, he asked for one miniscule thing.

“I don’t know how strong I am, I don’t know if I’m any good with a sword, and I don’t know if I could actually save anyone if I tried but please, Nike, please I beg of you! I want the strength to stand, the courage to overcome my fear! When we were attacked I could do nothing because I was afraid...Please Nike grant me courage to try, the courage to stand my ground against even the most impossible of odds so that I may atone for my failures. If I am to die in battle, so be be it, but I want to die trying to save someone other than myself!”.

Eventually he came before an interesting sight. At one opposite end of the river crossing, the Armies that followed Kurnos, at the other, the Armies that followed the God of Laughter and Light, Kassius. It did not surprise him however, his path would naturally take him to battle but it was not necessary for him to partake. The Cohorts of Solaras had been assembled into a singular Legion, under the command of someone competent and the Horde before them was most likely attacking out of a need to feed, not solely a want to conquer or create chaos. It wouldn’t be right for him to interfere as things were. But there was nothing wrong with watching and so he did. He collapsed onto the earth and seated himself to spectate the battle, the only ones capable of noticing him would be the Gods themselves and their chosen avatars. Perhaps they would see him as a lingering threat, for like his Goddess, he did not always choose the side that claimed to stand for Justice.

A scaled back, a Dragonkin, a lizardman, whichever named you prefer to address those humanoid reptiles, road atop a threatening mount. Monsters, riding monsters, thought Argon. It took center stage and with a voice as loud as the roaring thunder of Merwyn’s storms, he challenged the Sun bringer’s Chosen. This peaked his interest in the battle further as now even Nike would be alerted of this engagement.

It had been some time since the blades of two Gods’ Chosen had crossed. This could only be a reflection of what was occurring in the heavens, thought Argon. Calamity in Heaven meant Calamity upon the Mortals and when the Mortals invoked war in the name of their Gods, so too would the Gods battle their kin in the name of their followers. This was an observed law that had held true for some time now but only two questions remained for Argon. Who would gain Nike’s blessings in this battle and who would acquire Victory?
_______________________________________________________________________

The Cult Of Dolores the name itself was a taboo to the Public, a slur used by some to address the people who worshipped the Dark Lady. According to the public, the followers of Dolores were no different than them, their God only asked them to pursue their desires without restraint. So if one wished to have relations before marriage, Dolores did not frown upon them. If one sought to become a famous adventurer, Dolores did not frown upon them either. Regardless of the want, if they wanted it and worshipped her, supposedly she would bestow her blessings and aid them in it’s pursuit. Hunting down the worshippers of Dolores was difficult in that aspect, the public saw them as just worshippers of a different God, a Goddess who had no true ill intent but was viewed as evil because she represented Entropy. Not to mention, they were not a single entity, but a number of entities who collaborated because of their unified worship of the Lady of Dark Delights.

Today these individuals met in the Republic of Solaras, in the city of Nikea. In the open streets, Delietes and 4 others met. One was a hooded woman with a roguish look to her. She had a belt with many pouches and throwing daggers, the guards seemed to keep an eye on her, especially when the group would stop to examine the goods of the bazaars, her eyes seemed to always wander towards the vendor’s coin purse. Following closely next to her was a man whom like Deleites, had the look of a warrior. He wore a shirt of mail with a layer of studded leather beneath, over it all there was a tunic with the symbol of the Dawn Treaders, a rather famous group of adventurers and explorers. Then after him was another woman, dressed in red and white silk robes with a rather extravagant floral pattern, her hair was put up in a bun and she wore a mask that covered only her eyes. An attendant followed her and guided her by the hand, she was blind but seemed like she had no want for anything and when she spoke the ears of all who heard her perked up, her voice was like a melody composed by Anwen herself.

“Why are we here in plain sight Deleites, asked the Rogue.”.

“The Head of the local Merchants Guild,The Light Minded Profits, is meeting with in this bazaar. He is a brother in worship and believer in the gospel of our Lady. Be patient, Red.”

Red crossed her arms and the man whom mimicked a knight spoke up. “I assume they are the ones who have been seeing to our investments? If so, I don’t see the need to meet with him. He is a brother, yes? I need no other assurance than that!”.

“Robin, you’re just eager to go on that expedition of yours are you not? I’ve never known a man who so eager to sail into the unknown as you are… Are there any women in your group? I’ve heard sailors say it is bad luck to bring women to sea.”

“They are an unnecessary distraction and Merwyn’s seas are without mercy, Lady No. Though it makes me wonder why many ships feature a topless maiden at the bow...Hmm what a mystery that is, perhaps the sailors I will be with may have an answer.”.

Deleites chimmed in. “Perhaps Merwyn is like Kassius, Lustful. It would be difficult for such a man to strike down a ship with such an appealing maiden onboard, a distraction for him perhaps?”.

“Were I him, I’d only settle for the real thing.” Red answered, resulting in many questioning looks being thrown her way.

________________________________________________________

“ Kurnos you don’t get it do you?....I don’t need you… Attack, delay, retreat...regardless of what you do… It will all come to pass. My aim is make the profits greater than they are. I only want you. Your compliance will be rewarded accordingly even if you fail but it is not needed. Please Understand. You are an option. Be happy I choose you.”

Her words were seemingly laced with an aphrodisiac it seemed, the very magic of the 6th Court he had invaded worked its way into him steadily. The more he permitted in and let it whisper in his mind, the more power it would gain over him. This was a truly quite the tangled web Kurnos had managed to fly into. She placed herself at his ear and whispered in a suggestive tone.

“Now answer me quickly, God of Undeath, your presence and actions are making my cravings reach their peak… Unless that is what you came for in truth, to tease me and see if I’ll make a meal of you?”.

Though her tone was suggestive and her look that of a temptress, those words...they like daggers into the ears of whom ever recieved them. Kurnos was in danger if he remained here, that much was certain and the carnivorous look that the Mask of Dolores could not hide lingered in her eyes. Ants begun to crawl up her neck, maggots fell from her robe. A Spider’s legs could be seen moving from under her lips.

“So what will be Kurnos? Deny me...Obey me….or Satisfy me?”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: The Oakborn Character Portrait: Palchard Character Portrait: Archanian Character Portrait: Nike Character Portrait: Mervyn Character Portrait: Anwen Character Portrait: Indris
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"It is a strange sight, is it not? Watching them kill for food to fill their belly simply so that they can kill again. Especially when they don't need to do so. But it is often all they care about whether waking or sleeping."

The voice was lyrical and soft, with a hint of amusement in the tone. A womanly figure floated just above the grass beside Argonaut, her voice accompanied by the slow beating of wings reminiscent of a heart-beat.

"You've been missed, Argon. You do not travel my paths naturally anymore though you are still welcome. Even if you do not remember when you did." She smiled warmly at the ethereal creature, lightly brushing her fingers against his cheek causing a ripple as the effect felt real.




The tavern was filled with the raucous voices of dwarves raised in half drunken song. With each trying to outdo their compatriots with louder and deeper cries in-between swigs of ale and bursts of laughter.

Despite the famine there was always time for a little revelry for these brave souls who had not long came off shift in the mines or duty on the gates. Despite their best efforts many of them were still caked black as pitch from the coal and dirt, but here and now it didn't matter as much.

Dancing and weaving among the patrons was a fierce girl who led the song with her sweet voice and the whistle of her flute. Other instruments had lent their aid in raising their spirits. When they'd first slouched into the establishment many of them had been of a mind to muse over a single tankard for a while before calling it a night before she banished such thoughts entirely.

The sounds of alarm had begun to ring through the streets of Sivdzid, melding with the songs of its weary people to create an almighty cacophony till a rain of cannonballs punched through one side of the Tavern. Thankfully as they'd all gathered around the singing girl none of them had been harmed and at worst slightly stunned though the Tavern itself appeared badly damaged.

As the dwarves drinker stupor turned into surprise mixed with rage that they were attacked they as one dwarf picked up arms and made ready to defend their home. Feeling more alive and envigored that they ought they charged away to defend their homes with the songs they had sang still upon their lips but now their words were a battle cry as they dreamt of victory.

Of the girl there was no sign, she had apparently vanished, and within the hour so too had the Tavern. It had never been there but that didn't mean it hadn't been.

Elsewhere as the dwarven warhost that made ready under their king could hear a faint music on the wind, which carried to them an echo of the battlecries being sung in Sivdzid.





Indris strolled gently through the towering stacks of the Akashic Library, lightly brushing her fingers along the spines of several books. Unlike most libraries where the silence would be oppressive to the point of crushing in such a cavernous place the air is instead filled with a faint scratching.
The sound echoes endlessly, seeming to come from almost every shelf. Where there is silence some of the books will vanish while others the sound only seems to come from the last in a series. Such are the autobiographies which record every event that happens to everything

A creation of her predecessor, Indris has made improvements in places though there is little to be changed save perhaps reinforcing the spells behind it. Spells woven into fabric of the world when it was first created. She had enjoyed reading what each soul wrote when she first awakened however she decided to focus her efforts for understanding the world elsewhere. Even so she is often found reading the mystical tomes which contained every mention of her progenitor’s existence.

The room she now stood in without seeming to have moved within the library was overly ornate with half empty bookshelves containing drastically different tomes. Each was unique from others in the room but there was easily a few hundred or more of each kind. The stories of the gods themselves were marked here. Much of it was cryptic and distorted as each tome shaped itself to match the god it represented, resulting in books of dried leather or bubbling blood or wreathed in lightning. The languages used often varied to the gods own and could sometimes change midway through a book or wriggle on the page if they didn’t wish to be read.

The recent change of prosperity for much of the world had caused her to re-read much of the Oakborn’s story in hopes of finding something with which to aid her people before things become truly dire. As she reached over and plucked the most recent book, a simple volume of thin papyrus between mossy bark, she opened it to the most recent entry. As she read over the words she felt a sharp sting as they echoed back to her.

"I'm sorry, but the famine will not end today."

The words etched themselves on the thin sheet as she heard them reach her knowing that they were doing so on every current book in the room. The effect was rare and heightened by her reading something at an unusual moment but she felt the words repeated loudly from each book as she slammed the Oakborn’s shut and replaced it. The roar of the words almost caused her to stagger backwards before she regained composure and silenced the outburst.

Turning from the chamber she decided she’d have to see what could be done.



Alessa stood on a balcony staring out towards the western sea, her arms rested against the cold marble as she smiled softly to herself. The palace has been carved deep into the mountain chain with several such openings onto the sky which was fitting given that much of the space within was given over to those of more aerial nature than the majority of the nation’s inhabitants. Even so her subjects as a whole were barely a quarter in size compared with their rival; this perceived weakness had caused much strife on their borders at first till they’d learned to give them a wide birth but with the growing famine such sense appeared to have deserted most. Mainly since despite everything they were probably one of the least effected; they’d always made sure to over-produce their farms and such due to fact that much of their required sustenance came from magic itself while they still gouged on meat for the taste, which allowed for surplus to be used as a excellent source of trade. Even so they’d still rationed their food to better support those of the other mortal races within the borders.

A soft yawn escaped her lips just as the doors burst inwards, disturbing her contemplation as a broad shouldered figure entered with his boots echoing on the hard floor. His expression almost unreadable due to the metallic mask covering his features, but even so she could feel his annoyance and amusement.

”Your Majesty. There has been another raid on the borders.”

She sighed as she stepped away from the view, her hand lightly running through hair as thought back over the past few weeks. An ever increasing regularity for incursions though, thankfully nothing official from any of their neighbours. That would have been a nightmare, and famine or not the act of devouring mortals is rather tedious for dragons especially compared with more domesticated livestock and much more preferable as a treat than a diet.

”So. Who was it this time and how much damage did they do?”

There was a slight shift in his posture and she knew she’s caught the reason for his annoyance, not so much that someone had tried to invade but rather than they’d done harm to the nation. The raids were usually badly orchestrated by desperate souls are the lowest rungs of their society and doomed for failure.

”They came from the sea, took the small town by surprise and managed to avoid our golems in the bay. Thankfully we had a small patrol passing who were able to assist two of our brethren as well as most of the populous. Sadly a third of the raiders managed to flee with a large quantity of the settlements stock, requiring us to divert greater resources there. I’ve also stationed the patrol there for the time being as well as arranging addition patrols in number and frequency along our edges should more try the same. Or for them to official declare war.”

She smiled and then gave hearty chuckle with a light shake of her head.

”My dear Tristan, what would I do without you… Now, where are the survivors of this raid.”

”Very little, my Queen. But what was salvageable is kept below, a small handful of captives for your pleasure. The rest we have handed over to the kitchens for the rest of the palace.”

”Good. I’ll have to deal with these stragglers myself, take them apart till I know who sent them or if they were simply acting alone. Care to join me for a little snack?”

”Always, my lady.”

They both descended to a meeting chamber deeper into the mountain castle where five Merrows sulked in what amounted to a giant goldfish bowl. As they entered Tristan made sure to close the doors behind him before they began their interrogation.