He had been sitting at an outdoor table, nursing a glass of wine in an uptown district of Adeluna, the largest city in the world. It had been attempting to rain and people were pulling up their collars, pushing down their hats, or getting their servants to hold parasols over their heads. It was chilly, but the cold had never bothered him. He was half ice-daemon after all.
But then he felt a terrible pressure pushing into his skull from all sides. Clutching his head in pain with both hands, Mendean heard the wineglass hit the flagstones, as well as the sound of people shouting and screaming. Something was happening, but for a while, it was all the god could do to block out the sense of wrenching displacement. The commotion died away quickly. It was hot. A fire? He opened his eyes and froze.
There had been no sensation of movement, beyond the wrenching feeling. He looked around and saw several others nearby, similarly bewildered. An overturned cart, the table and chairs, a section of the cafe wall, teetered briefly, before collapsing. Mendean jumped back and away from the crumbling brickwork, then stopped to brush fine dust off his jacket. Stepping back, he took a good look around.
It did not take very long to spot the familiar landmark of the castle and the lighthouse that served as airship dock, but they were not the same. Most of the buildings were absent, and those that remained were of a very different style from what he was used to. Single-story, red brickwork with white adobe. Mosaics on the walls and floors. Olive groves. This was not the Adeluna he was familiar with at all…and yet…
There were locals, emerging from their low-slung primitive homes. Many wore simple tunics and sandals. Most were bare-legged, although there were some in togas and others still in trousers, but they had a fierce unkempt look to them, complete with long drooping moustaches and animal hide jackets. Completing his self-dusting, the corner of Mendean's mouth turned up in a half-smile.
Kelonians.
The Kelonian empire had stretched all the way from the Vilmapolan coast, through the plains of Bohar and down into what was now the kingdom of Adeluna, a thousand years ago. One of the greatest empires in history, the Kelonians had developed technological innovations, developed new tactics and methods of waging war, built roads and great monuments and generally dominated most of southern Canelux, even managing to establish outposts much further north. There was hardly a single society in Canelux that had not been touched in some manner by the Kelonian civilisation.
He recalled that his family had once been Kelonian nobility. His father and uncle had studied at the college in what would one day become Egjora. His parents had first met in this time, although at the time his mother had been a Daemon bound into the service of a prince. It was strange to consider that for him, this had all occurred a single generation before. But that was before his father had become an immortal being, who by some strange contradiction, was now very-much dead.
People were getting up, and the locals were shouting for the guard to come. No doubt their loved-ones had suddenly found themselves stuck a thousand years from here, in the future, Mendean's present. And then a thought occurred to him: Was he still a god in this time?
He looked at the ground, focussing. After a few moments, the flagstones began to shift and warp. Silvery threads sprouting from between the cracks. Mendean smiled and allowed reality to resume hold of his environment. Yes, his connection was still there. A little confused, but present. Mendean was still a divine being.
More shouting in Kelonian (which he was fortunate enough to understand much better than Adelunan) and flames belched across the paved street. There was a flash of light and a number of armed figures fell to the ground, as though they had been several feet up in the air a moment before. Elves. At least a dozen of them. But their armour was unfamiliar to him. It was fashioned from pieces of what looked like glass, linked together by small loops of wire. A very old design. Older than the time he was in. Many of them were injured, at least one was dead. The gash across his chest was undoubtedly a mortal wound.
As he watched the scene unfold, the elves struggled to their feet, holding aloft bronze spears and short swords. They eyed the locals with a mixture of fear and suspicion. The situation immediately became worse as the fully-armoured Kelonian city guard arrived, brandishing their own spears, as well as the large shields he had seen only in history books. The situation was about to escalate. Of that he had no doubt.
And then Mendean did something he was not expecting to do. Waving his arms over his head, he ran, shouting in Kelonian. ”Wait! Wait! These are not invaders! Wait!”
Moments later, the young deity stood between the two groups of armed men. He turned and waved similarly at the elves. He did not know what dialect they spoke, so he tried several elven words for 'stop' in the hope they would get the gist. It seemed to work, for no one was attacking, so far. Then he turned back to be the well-armed Kelonian soldiers.
”My name is, uh, that is to say, my name is…Hector Elkeslon. These elves mean you no harm, as they were transported against their will to this place. Please, stay your hands for the moment.”
”WHAT? Hector Elkeslon? Let me see for myself!” A very tall man emerged from the group of soldiers. He was not dressed like the others. A man in his forties or fifties, with a thick grey beard. He wore a purple toga and carried a short sword. Even though he was not dressed as a soldier, it was clear by his bearing that he had been one in his youth. His expression was grim as he beheld the callow youth before him. Mendean recognised the man immediately, feeling a shock render his arms and legs useless. He could not decide whether it was joy or fear that gripped him so tightly around the throat.
”Hector Elkeslon died years ago. I know. I was there. You resemble him a little, so you could be one of his bastards. But why you would be named after him, I can only guess. Perhaps you are not telling me the truth, eh boy?” The immense figure held the sword out so that it pointed at Mendean's throat. He found he was unable to answer. The man continued. ”Tell me now, boy. I was Hector's younger brother. If you are claiming my family name for nefarious purposes, I will know, and I will end your life right here in the street!”
God Abilities:
Can warp reality around him, so that the environment will begin to resemble his dream-like realm.
May enter and manipulate the dreams of others.
You cannot know Mendean for who or what he is unless he allows it. Even your memories will be altered to disguise his identity, unless he does not wish it. Even his aura is too widely spread for you to see.