Information

Catastrophe
Legacy Name: Catastrophe

The Storm Irion
Owner: Tribe

Age: 9 years, 10 months, 1 week

Born: June 11th, 2014

Adopted: 1 year, 8 months, 4 weeks ago

Adopted: July 19th, 2022

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

• Level: 236
   
• Strength: 591
   
• Defense: 587
   
• Speed: 589
   
• Health: 587
   
• HP: 582/587
   
• Intelligence: 250
   
• Books Read: 245
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Register Supervisor

The Eye of the Storm watches...

We wild gods are entities of primordial stardust, driven by impulse and instinct. We sprung from pillars of creation, from what is sacred within the natural elements--the elements that, in themselves, exist in delicate balance.

-

Few witnessed Mother Willow's emergence: a cutting from Yggdrasil splintering into its own consciousness, spawning a benevolent nature goddess of protection and order.

From Salixa's promise of safety came the counterbalance of danger: a deity of the wrathful, unending storm, a being of pure, mindless natural disaster--

Malum, the spirit of Catastrophe itself.

-

Trust me, child--I wish no malice nor harm. I am at peace with my nature, my purpose.

I will not deny the tempestuous days of my younger years, but the years themselves bring change and endow a kind of wisdom. I have seen worlds rise and fall, the inexorable birth of stars and their brilliant flashes of starfire as they too fade. The tides of change are inherent in the ways of the world, this cycle of birth and demise. The implications of my destruction are much less outright damage, but rather the opportunity to build anew; one must understand the extent of the harm to push forth the wheels of progress.

My time with Salixa has long-tempered my rage. Once we clashed in opposition, circling for the opportunity for dominance, but that animosity's long quenched itself over the march of passing millennia. She became my trusted friend, confidante… even more than that. She softened me, brought out the best in me--I am all too grateful for her compassion, her patience.... for her being her.

-

The crackle of thunder rumbles in the skies. I run reckless across the surface of the storm-slick sea, laughing in careless, cruel delight. The gray waves roil, cold sea spray accompanying the frothy crests crashing from high above. The strong winds buffet the waters and whip at the trees onshore, bending them to their will; they drive the relentless rain, which fiercely pours down in sheets.

This is what I live for--the thrill of the storm, the scent of its air electric and intoxicating. That satisfying, indescriminate crack of destruction--the noise of everything crumbling down.

Yet... a ray of sun breaks through the clouds, spotlighting a slender figure on the beach. The sun ray follows them as they run onto the water, their steps light on its surface; the ripples leave calm, idyllically teal water in their wake.

As they approach, their shape becomes clearer: a tan-skinned woman with a mane of brown curls, green dress billowing behind her. As she gestures about with graceful sweeping arm motions, the storm diffuses and clears in a radius around her, temperate as a midsummer's day.

My brow furrows. A challenger? I pull the energies of the storm about me, rally it forward to reclaim the lost ground.

The storm rushes at the woman, who sweeps her arm before her; the raging storm calms before her, a breeze tossing her hair back as it passes.

She comes ever closer, completely nonplussed--she is resolute, her every step collected and regal.

Her calm demeanor only incenses me; I hurl swift winds, crackling lightning, torrential rain--all to no avail.

She holds a shining barrier before her, its sorcerous energy swirling in whirls and eddies. "Care to talk?" She's all smiles, sunny and sweet.

I only motion to rally the storm, to drive the assault forward.

She quickly waves off my next attacks, rolling her eyes. "I can do this all day, stormy."

It took a good while for me to see some semblance of reason; it is some kind of twisted enigma that, in spite of this tempestuous first meeting, we were fast friends.

Perhaps it was finding an immortal kindred, one who had witnessed the rise and fall of eons beneath the ever-burning sun.

Perhaps it was the damning loneliness of bearing witness to all in isolation, the loneliness that gently gnaws at you with the hope that you are not alone.

Perhaps it was something else altogether, a predestined predilection for each other--soul mates, as you will.

Whatever the reason, we traveled together for a few millennia, steadfast companions who grew well-accustomed to each others' presence. We groused on and on about our obligations, about the burden of our immortality--but the reality is that it was a comfortable state of affairs, knowing that we had each others' backs.

-

She lies still in the meadow in a moment of calm; she looks softened, all peaceful with her eyes closed and hair fanned all about her amongst the grass.

Close by her side, I sit up, watching the clouds languidly meader through a painted sunset sky. The fireflies dance among us, flickering lights amidst the dawning night.

"You know, destruction isn't always bad." She murmurs the words dreamily, almost too quiet to hear. "Just as protection isn't always good."

I chuckle a little bit, reach over to to ruffle her hair. "What's got you talkin' bout this?"

"Just thinking aloud." She smiles so sweetly, nose scrunching as she giggles. "You just always seem to antagonize over your essence, your own purpose."

"Alright, then take me along for the ride." I scoot closer and offer my open hand to her to hold; she grabs it, threads her fingers into mine. "Tell me what you're thinking, oh wise one."

She mock pouts for just a sec, but is quick to smile again. "I was thinking about how change is kind of destruction--in its own way, it breaks down the old ways to bring about the new. In that same vein, protection is safe--but it also can lull us into thinking that we don't need to change, that stagnancy is enough to get by. It becomes an excuse, an enabler--a twisted semblance of its intent."

"Deep thoughts off duty, huh?" I tickle her nose with my free hand. "So what's the big takeaway?"

"You're so silly." She bats my hand away from her face, snickering all the while. "There isn't an inherent good or bad in what we do. Nor are we meant to oppose each other in every possible way--in some ways, change can be protective and stagnancy as damaging as outright destruction itself." She exhales breathily, watching the twinkling of the first-emerging stars. "There is middle ground..."

"Alright alright, quiet your mind, Lixa." I threaten to tickle her stomach--she drops my hand as she tries to squirm away in response, yelping indignantly. "Come back here, ahhh."

"Nimble as a darned firefly." Grumbling, I scoot to follow her. "Get over here so I can give you a hug strong enough to squash ya, little firefly."

Basking in the rosy lens of her musings, we lay there in the grass, reveling in the peace of the dark. In each others' arms, we whisper silly remarks and jokes, as if afraid to speak louder; together, we watch bright stars shimmer stark upon the night till sleep claims us.

-

She gave so much of herself to others. Our love was true—but she was truer still to her calling.

It has been too many centuries since she gave up her deific form in the name of doing greater good. The greater part of her wanders formlessly amongst Yggdrasil, intervening on behalf of those in deepest need of safe harbor. However, as she once splintered from the Great Tree, a small part of her essence splintered into the Celestials of our world--better identified as angels, spirits, and other minor deities.

The truth is... I don't think her decision was wholly selfless.

Her duty--much of which she shouldered alone--was heavy beyond compare, even with our capabilities.

... Even as gods, we had limits; our powers depleted left our world vulnerable and helpless--we could not face the constant onslaught of natural disasters, even together.

We could not be everywhere, for everyone.

Yet who were we judge whose lives were worthier to save?

I watched it destroy her, dim her idealism and hope--I did what I could to ease her burden, yet it was her obligation to witness the greatest horrors, to confront them...

... even the consequences when she was too late, too slow to act.

-It would be delusional to expect any singular deity to shoulder this duty for eternity. She was so strong, yet I saw it break her, saw the hope in her eyes turn to something colder, more jaded.

She tried to take it on herself--but she was one individual shouldering a world of hurt...

She always said it was the cries of dying that made it the most real, that broke her heart. It was a cruel gift, far too cruel: to listen to those greatest in need, even if they could not be saved. I watched her grapple with this trauma, this great baggage of her purpose--

And I remember the pain in her eyes, the bitter tears. I remember her trying to harden her heart, only to despair in the dulling of her open-hearted compassion. I remember her deep misery, her deep resent that this was the way things were.

-

At the skyward root of the great World Tree, she sits at the Uroarbrunnr's edge.

No mortal sees. No mortal hears. No mortal knows.

The Norns looked on as she gave her life to bless the heavens, bound her essence to the tree from whence she came.

The waters, greater sanctified, became awash with enchantment--

Angels would drink from its waters, souls pass by its sacred shoreline..

-

Man, their memory vague and brief, remembers her as an angel; yet she was more than that--they will never know the extent of what she gave.

She… she taught me what loss feels like, what it truly is.

I miss her. I understand her choice, her sacrifice... but it was no beautiful thing—only a horror punctuated by the comical arrogance of those who replaced her.

The loss still aches--even as the years unfurl without her; so I move on, hold tight to her memory and live to honor the person she was.

I relive snapshots of her: the way her body shook as she giggled, the little motion of her tucking a stray curl behind her ear, the faraway look in those green eyes that’d seen too much, the steadfast patience of her level head.

The memory of her joy-filled laugh is so precious. It is fleeting, even more so as it fades; it inexplicably slips away like grains of sand in the wind betwixt one’s fingers.

I cannot cling to her forever. As she did, her memory will come to pass, until she is merely a named epitaph on our lips.

I dread that day, but sense it is coming--so I leave this blessing in your hands, a failing fragment of the goddess I loved:

One seeks safe harbor from the storms.
May you find it beneath the branches of Mother Willow.

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