Aeterius
Highlord Aeterius
Presenting as the pre-eminent champion of the mortals, Highlord Aeterius the Sun-Crowned is the most recent addition to the deities of Arcanorum, if one can speak of the several dozen lifetimes that have passed since their arrival as “recent”, however, being the progeny of the other deities, certain allowances can be made.
As the child of Voxus, Aeterius can be uncompromising in their viewpoints, though, to the denizens of Arcanorum, they are unfailingly kind, gracious, and often protective. That said, once a foe arises to threaten their chosen, the Highlord can be swift and exacting in their perception of justice.
Having established regular contact with the hierarchies of their faiths and the common folk alike, Aeterius is often considered the most “approachable” of Arcanorum’s pantheon, though they are not often seen “in the flesh.” They often employ Simulacrum to carry messages, engage in the populace in discourse, and oppose the forces of chaos and darkness. These simulacrum are universally Celestine in nature, and if not glowing themselves, usually carry the light of the Highlord with them, identifiable by any who view it.
Adherents of the faith commonly known as The Highlord rarely make a distinction between their own faith and Aeterius, however, Aeterius is known in more remote locations by other names and visages, though always as a luminescent figure of mortal bearing.
Accent: Radiance
- The Highlord
- Sun-Crowned
- They That Cast No Shadow
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas