Stolthet

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The prompting emotions you felt when winning a hard earned battle, the sensation that overcame you when you gazed down at your kin in hopes for the future, the feeling when you gain something you’ve always wanted or longed for. Pride. Joy. Such simple emotions, but even they roused the spawning of a God. But what tale wove its weave so she became what she is now?

Stolthet, spawned as a Goddess in her own right after she was birthed from mortals praying to a being that there once never was. Day and night, mortal creatures that wanted to achieve their dream and feel satisfaction where their normally was nothing but pain. Thus, she was born and easily flourished into her power. Pride and joy flowing from her feminine form in weaves of bright light and a smile daunting her muzzle.

She easily warmed and eased the hearts of those who prayed to her, never finding a dull moment as prayers swept over her and kept her immortal form eternally graced in a dull pink hue. But as all good stories come, they face hardships and hers was the beings overwhelming need to feel pure joy in their weakest state. It eventually became too much for the young Goddess. Stolthet felt overwhelmed and became isolated from the beings that loved her, pushing them once more into darkness without the feelings she evoked due to her powers.

Gozgriz, disapproved of such an act and set a plan, aiming to lure the female from her state with Death trailing not far behind. Little did he know the feminine had already awakened, sensing the looming threat that prevailed upon her—and she fled, far away with fear dancing in her eyes. Gozgriz stayed a shadow dancing among the trees, for whether intentionally or not, his plan had worked and once again Stolthet had taken up her duties once more and became stronger because of it.

And when she returned and came face to face with the brute of a God, a battle of wits and snarky comebacks ensued between the two. But one day, the makers of all may decide to intervene, because Love and Hate can only last so long before the scales are tipped.

Stolthet appears as a completely white badger, one light pink stripe going across her back with bright, glowing gold slits for eyes.

If you pray upon this god, you only have a chance of being blessed or being temporarily stricken with what you pray for. Keep this in mind when bowing your head.

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Plot/Monthly Updates;

- Chapter One
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Stolthet watched from a safe distance, her white fur masked with her immortal soul; she watched the suffering put upon the pack from Gozgriz and Tantoa, and it almost broke her heart. Joy and pride had begun to diminish from the pack, leaving the members to give each other a cold glare as they passed. It mustn't be. Joy must fill the hearts of even the coldest of wolves, she assured that the spring would bring new reasons for pride, with the ideas lurking in Lavosa's mind.

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- Chapter Two
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While, she herself was the very harbinger of joy and pride itself. The Goddess couldn't help but feel unsure in what was going to be brought upon both the mortal pack that prayed to them--sustaining their very immortality--and the fellow Gods and Goddesses that stood beside each other, no matter how stupid the action. And she wasn't sure if she could call this a stupid action or an action brought from love. For the first time, the Goddess knew she was at risk for splitting away from the very emotions she maintained and was brought to life to maintain. And whose to say what would come of her if she didn't manage to get a handle on it.

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- Chapter Three
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I am Stolthet-- the bringer of joy and pride. You would think I would feel those very emotions swelling within me on the day my child was brought into the world. But in the recesses of my mind all I feel is horror, revulsion, and disappointment. Not only towards myself--but to the very child I have born. Do not get me wrong--I shall love my child to end of it days; as every god knows--a red-eyed God will be the end of itself--as is fore-told by the lore that is now sprinkled across the mortal plane. I shall love them with every breath I take--but I shall no longer utter a word, for not even I can trust myself from screaming the truth of it's existence. A truth I must keep lest I wish to meet my own end.

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- Chapter Four
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Everyday, I can feel it. The pressure at the back of my mind. Checking, checking, checking. Always checking-- always making sure I haven't said a word. And I haven't! ... Have I? It is hard to remember what is the voice inside my head, the voice of my husband, and the voice that derives from my own throat. It is hard-- difficult even--to go from speaking everyday of your life, to nothing at all. But that is not the true extent. I would speak if I could. I would guide my child away from their father's grooming words and I would break the bonds that bond me to my 'love'. But, in truth, I am scared. Of my son--and his father.

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Stolthet's Preferred Form;