pain, fear and desperation

pure survival instinct, flee this void

>A feeling of nervous anticipation, of eagerness, of expectation

Why not just enjoy the ride?

Eagerness and expectation might not be the wisest vibe, but it's definitely the most fun!

>A feeling of conflict, of bloodlust, of roaring anger

You seek REVENGE. You were DESPERATE before, but not anymore. You'll do it right this time. And those that wronged you will be silenced. Permanantly.

Antici







pation.

Fear.

This is not where you were expected. This is not your destiny. This path is for... you don't remember. But you know with certainty that another was meant to come here, and you have taken it from them.

They were ready and you were not.

It is an endless twisting cascade as you grasp at a strand of light and are drawn down down down into its depths. Emotions flood all thought, memories consume all that you are, and then you are someone new...

-----

You are Urrat, of the Poisonblood tribe. Your people have long thrived in the jungles, unmolested by the concerns of other, weaker races. They shy away from your home, complaining of disease and vicious predators. The orc laughed and took the jungles for their own. You carry on their traditions, laughing in the face of death each day, and bear the scars of your life with pride.

Today, you participate in one of the oldest traditions, one of the most important. Today you shall be granted your second name, be shown your destiny. Your chieftain honored you and the seers proclaimed you worthy.

You had spent the last week in preparation, cleansing yourself of impurity. Your tribe had stripped you of all material objects, sequestered you within a lone hut constructed just for this purpose, and filled it constantly with incense. You had been provided with little, water and the barest minimum of food, but you endured. You would not be denied your second name, certainly not by the protests of your own body.

Now, you found yourself silently waiting, your naked body covered in painted sigils by the seers. Night had fallen hours ago, the only light a bonfire that lit the small clearing, sending shadows dancing at the edges. The seer toiled away, the old crone crushing fruits and herbs and something that smelled like rotting flesh within a bowl, occasionally sniffing at it and humming to herself. The nervous energy inside you demanded release, the only thing keeping you in check the thought that others like you, others surely destined for greatness, had stood firm in the face of this endless waiting.

"Does it anger you so, the waiting?"

The old crones voice breaks the silence, raspy and dry. The sudden question does nothing to calm your nerves, but the sheer weight of respect the seer commands is enough to stay your tongue.

"I wish to know my destiny."

The crone laughs at that, a cackling sounds that grats on your eardrums.

"They all say that. Funny that none have ever been satisfied with what they see. Tell me, young woman, what great deed did you perform that earned you this... honor..."

You get the feeling the seer does not quite think that the second naming is as glorious as it is, but whether or not you agree, you can't help but think back...

>What have you done that earned you the honor of a second name?

When little Chatak was sick, you were the one that was able to hunt down and harvest the rare herb used for their cure

Little Chatak had been sick, covered in sweat, breathing heavy, coughing blood from his weak lungs. You could not hope to understand it all, you are no healer, but you knew what all had been told. The Jungle Fever had taken hold of the boy, and there was little to be done without the Tulta herb. Though the tribe had attempted to find some of the rare plant, searching the places it had been found before, they had little luck. You, however, kept on. You had blazed a trail through jungle canopies, fighting past hunger and exhaustion, ceaselessly seeking until the world itself had blurred. You had been told later that you had returned to the tribe nearly broken, but with the Tulta clutched within your iron grip, released only after the medicine woman had forced a brew down your throat and coaxed your body into dreamless slumber.

The crone nods knowingly as you relate the story of your deed, hands continuing to work at the stone bowl and its contents.

"Worthy, yes. Soon we shall see what your soul has to say. A shame one so young must be burdened with it..."

The seer draws you closer to the fire, seats you upon a mat woven of jungle fronds. A few final preparations are made to the mixture within the bowl before the seer places it into your hands, her old eyes narrowing as if to see your face more clearly. With a snap of her fingers, the contents of the bowl ignite, smoke billowing up and into your face.

"Breathe in, Urrat."

You breath in at the command, the smoke filling your lungs. Almost instantly the world seems to slowly fall away as the crone's voice continues.

"Breathe deep, child, and remember..."

Everything falls away, only to be replaced within moments. You blink in confusion for only a moment before things begin to click into place. The sun hangs high within the sky above the beach, beating down upon the shore and the assembled tribes that stand behind you. Upon the ocean dozens of boats, heralding another attempt by the humans to take what does not belong to them. You know they attempted an invasion by land, but they had been ill prepared for the dangers of the jungles or the ferocity of the tribes. And now, they come by way of the sea, seeking to catch your people by surprise. You know without looking that by sheer numbers they will overwhelm the few tribes gathered here, the Talonrake, the Fadeleaf, the Jaggedtooth. Too few to fight this battle and hope for victory.

"They think they have won."

A voice, old and raspy, breaks your focus upon the coming ships. You turn to stare down at the strange old seer that stand next to you, that none of the others seem to see. Where had a seer come from? Surely they would avoid the bloodshed that must be done.

"We would, wouldn't we? Yet here I am. Come come, Urrat, show me your victory."

You feel your hackles rise, the insinuation that you could not achieve victory here angering you. You feel something deep within stir, answering your anger, coming to your call. As you turn once more to the ships, see them dropping their skiffs, the men within likely ready to do battle. You hear behind you the whispers as you step forward, the volume steadily increasing as someone takes that whispered word and turns it into a shout, a battlechant.

"God-Touched! God-Touched! God-Touched!"

The crone eyes seem wide, almost frightened as the jungle thunders with the word, the title, that now marks your passage. The power within swells as you grasp at it, as you roar your defiance at the men that come to take, as what is within awakens and come forth to strike at your enemies, resounding with the sound of your second name.

>What form does your name and power take?

You are a Cosmic Thief
Power:
You can steal the impossible; the magma flowing beneath the earth, the stars in the sky, the essence of a god...
Of course, since this power was gifted to you by an entity of the cosmos, your ability is somewhat limited at the moment. For now, you can pickpocket the replicant shreds of divine essence found at churches and shrines. Hold anything stronger and the weight would crush you.
At higher levels, you can steal metaphysical concepts, like the exact number of drops in a waterfall, or an algorithm that can determine if a program halts or loops, or even the concept of dogma from a major religion.

Weakness:
Oath of Greatness - you have a permanent handicap on your ability; you are forbidden from taking any action that can be interpreted as a mundane version of your power.
No stealing pig-iron keys from a mortal guard, with magic or even your bare hands.

"Let the army of vermin march on our lands. Let the gods themselves spectate and jeer. I will steal the hope in their eyes and the futures of their children! I - We - are Urrat the Pilgrim, and may this be our final step to glory!"

I like the idea of COSMIC THIEF, though my interpretation is that the weakness is you can do weaker versions of the power, but if it's not sufficiently mighty enough you lose half of your total energy pool, meaning if you have to do subtle subterfuge that seems beneath you, you still can, but at a cost.

OR, keep KOME's interpretation of the weakness, but add in the ability to disseminate your stolen energy/skills/concepts to close followers. Maybe a single devotee at first. You are GOD TOUCHED, and that means you will be WORSHIPED like one, what better way to be worshiped then to deliver a BOON unto someone.

As for your second name, it's FUR. Some obscure language called LATIN says it's the word for THIEF.

The first thing you steal using your GIFT is their SENSE OF BALANCE. They can no longer move around properly or hold things properly. Many fall off their boats and while some arrive on shore, your numbers are enough to defeat them and claim the ships as your own.

To steal the power of gods is said to be impossible.

You laugh at that, for you have stolen the power of gods from the moment you awakened.

Now, you feel the roiling power of stolen gods within your soul. You grasp a single thread of it and consume it, fueling your own divine gift. Reaching out across the fabric of reality to grasp at the very concept of Balance itself, with a twist you pull it away from underneath your enemies. It is a difficult feeling to describe, stealing a concept, but you've had plenty of practice and it now comes easily. You watch as the men aboard the ships just seems to slip, losing any ability to stand or move properly. Some fall from the boats, doing all they can to keep from drowning. Few make it to the beaches with any semblance of organization, those few are swiftly dealt with, the tribes that surround you falling upon them with brutal savagery. The fighting is quick, and you watch as the tribes take control of the skiffs and use them to take the fight to the ships themselves. Whatever superiority of number they possessed has been made nothing.

"God-Touched..."

The whisper is enough to draw your attention to the seer that stands behind you. You can hear the fear in her voice, the awe. It had been years since you'd heard such fear, since you'd proven your loyalty to the tribes. It confuses you, the seer's had long been content with your presence. You start to ask after this odd behavior, but you feel suddenly as if darkness is creeping up the edges of your vision. You try to blink it away, but it grows, consuming your sight until you feel as if you are falling once more...

Only to awaken with a start, eyes staring up into the night shrouded canopies of your jungle home. You sit up to find the bonfire has died, and on the far side, seated with a grim expression upon her face, the crone stares at you. There is silence as you stand on shaky legs, regaining control of yourself, but when you are stable once more her voice pierces the still air.

"Tell me you cannot feel it, Urrat. Tell me you cannot feel divinity."

You frown, uncertain for a moment, until you remember the dream gifted to you by the brew forced down your throat. The rush of power, the feeling of absolute control of all around you. The chanting of your followers, the surety in your own purpose. You remember, almost instinctively, the feeling to search for, the method to call up that power from the depths. You pull at it, and it answers, rising up from the depths. But it is different, ravenous, empty. You lack power, lack the strength to do much more than lap at the edges. It as if you are empty of the power needed to enact your will. The crone seems to understand your attempt, grimacing at the revelation that you are not, in fact, incapable of doing what she feared.

"God-Touched. You are both cursed and blessed, child. But I am not one capable of explaining. You must seek out the Blind Seer. He will be able to guide you further, show your the depths of the power you now wield. Do not stray, do not wait. You must go quickly. Be safe, Urrat Fur, bear your name for good or ill."

You are allowed to rest only long enough to put on your garments and take up your hunting spear before you are ushered off. You can expect the journey will be days of hard travel. Despite being told to head straight for the Blind Seer, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to return to your tribe and gather supplies for the journey. There's also the matter of this emptiness within your soul, your dreamlike memories making you think that perhaps vising an orcish shrine might provide answers as well...

>What to do?

>Heed the Seer
One doesn't dismiss the concerns of a seer. Head straight for the Blind Oracle, for he will have answers.

>Return to the Tribe
Days of hard travel will leave you exhausted, prepared supplies will help alleviate that.

>Find the nearest Shrine.
Your Gift is stealing, surely using that Gift will provide answers of its own.

It's not straying if you are buying the supplies necessary to keep yourself from slowing down due to starvation.

Head into town, honestly barter for food and water, then go straight to the Blind Oracle. For now, do not steal from your own shrine, it could harm the tribe.

Gather supplies, you don't want to die because you weren't prepared. Especially for that SWAMP that comes up right before the seer. without supplies, walking around it would take ages, and walking through it could leave you addled with anemia from the blood loss of leeches or poisoned by some manner of dangerous insect.