Khelios, god of seas and storms (kee-lee-ose)

god of seas and storms

Taken as a dictation from the children's morning lesson on the 13th day of the Cycle of Storms, as told by Father Dillon of the Order of Khelios in Dhroshnag Karud, Ken Durath.
Now listen closely to the story of Khelios and how he came to protect coastal cities like ours - for when you hear the wind blow through your window at night, that is Khelios reminding you that those winds answer to him and you have nothing to fear from the sea.
Long before you were born, in the Age of Mortals, before the elves had come to this realm and while Kendar's dragons still roamed free, the great continent of Sol Durath had not yet disappeared over the horizon. On its shores lay six great cities, known around the realm for their sunny beaches, rich wines and aromatic spices, and one city whose luck grew worse as the other cities grew more wealthy.
Tucked into the center of Sol Durath's southwestern peninsula, Khelian had once been a city of trade, of lumber, of noble shipwrights building the realm's sturdiest and most beautiful ships. But as time went on, Khelian was beset by storms like none had seen before -- the type of storms that tore thatching from roofs, that split trees, that salted the fields and drew the dangerous creatures of the deep close to shore. Slowly the people of Khelian became less and less able to farm, to build, to fish or even to travel across the Crystalline Sea.
Two of those shipwrights, humans whose workshop was being torn apart by the sea, had a young son. What they named him has been lost to time; he may have even had your name! But the people of the city came to call him Khelios as a joke. Some believed he was cursed, some blessed, for even as a baby he would cry when it stormed until one of his parents would take him outside to feel the rain. And then, from the time he was born up through his childhood, he would raise his arms into the storm -- and as you know, if you've been paying attention to your lessons, Khelios means "the arms of Khelian" in Old Orcish.
And so it was that in every storm Khelios would stand on the docks and raise his arms into the storm, untouched by the ravaging effects of it. When asked why, he could never quite explain what it was that drew him out there. He'd "miss something", he'd tell his parents, or he'd say the rain "needed him". Though a child, there were those in the city who resented him for seeming to enjoy the thing that brought such devastation, even believing that he himself was the curse, and one night a band of teenagers set out to take care of the problem. Some said they saw him being pushed off the docks, and even when the storm calmed there was no sign of him.
I know it seems sad, but bear with me.
It was some seven years later when a pirate ship, built with such reverence and skill that even Khelios' grieving parents were in awe, docked in Khelian. And off its side hopped a young man -- handsome, smiling -- but only when he stood on the dock with outstretched arms did even his parents recognize who he was. He brought with him gold and silver, jewels of all kinds and the riches of Sol Durath's great cities, all to share with the people of Khelian.
In private, he told his parents how he'd been swept out to sea, so far that he could no longer see home. How he was pulled from the waves just as it was becoming too freezing to swim by a band of orc and elemental pirates. How he learned to fight, to steal, to take what he needed. How he knew he could build a ship, command a crew, and take the wealth of Sol Durath home. "And the sea, your beloved storms, did they help you along the way?" his mother asked, trembling. But he could not remember.
Now this may seem like the end of the story, hmm? Certainly, we know that Khelios' power comes from the sea, so he must have continued being a pirate and figured it out for himself, right? Well, not exactly.
You see, humans are notoriously bad at figuring things out on their own, especially matters of divinity, and Khelios was no exception. He raided and pillaged, burned and killed, filled with anger towards those who lived comfortable lives in Sol Durath while his parents and his people lived in constant fear. To him, those golden cities mocked their plight, and he could not rest while boiling with rage. That doesn't sound much like the Way of Khelios these days, does it?
Eventually he got it into his head that if he could steal enough, take enough of what he believed Khelian was owed, the city could finally take its place among the great cities. So he planned a heist like none had ever seen before -- he and his crew were to steal the treasure of the Water Temple of Kyrian, the largest and richest of Sol Durath's great cities.
They left the temple in smoking ruins, its clergy dead and its artifacts crammed tightly into Khelios' beautiful ship, those allowed to live spending the rest of their lives in fear of that gleaming wooden bow. And as they headed out to sea, the clouds began to rumble, and Khelios opened his arms to welcome the storm.
But once they'd cleared out into open ocean, the ship began to rock in the storm as it never had before. The crew, not used to storms affecting the ship this way, were unable to keep it steady, and pleaded with Khelios to allow them to throw the treasure overboard. It was heavy, it must have been what made the ship act so strangely. But Khelios refused.
He stood still, arms outstretched as he had as a child, all but deaf to the world as he felt the rain beat down on his skin. But his peace was not to last -- a lightning bolt cracked from the clouds and tore down him, splitting his face and chest open and leaving him bleeding on the deck as his crew rushed to try to push at least some of the treasure overboard. "No," croaked Khelios, though he could feel the blood draining from him. "That treasure belongs to Khelian. Any of you who dump it into the sea will not live to see home."
When he woke, it was plunged into the sea. It took him a moment to take in his surroundings -- the shards of his ship drifted downwards, as if suspended in the water. Those of his crew that he could see were limp, breath stolen from them. Why, then, was he able to breathe? To move so easily, as if made for it? Even the searing pain was soothed by the cool water around him, the salt not finding a way to sting him. And as he turned around, he saw a blur of color and movement, and his body was picked up and pushed away. Rock solid, it felt under his fingertips. Rock solid and mossy, like an underwater stone.
He woke again on burning sand, the sun beating down on him relentlessly. And gods, how it stung, the sand lining his wound like he'd rolled in it. It wasn't until he heard a voice that he had the strength to move.
"Your kind are so short-sighted," came a voice he could almost convince himself he was imagining. But as he rolled to the side, the beak of a turtle came into view. Only, the beak itself was the size of Khelios, and he was no small man. He jumped to his knees, scuttling backwards, and as she came into view, he couldn't help but recognize her from childhood stories.
Solark, the water bearer. The one who brought the gifts of the plane of water to this realm. He couldn't believe his eyes, rubbing at them to be sure he hadn't started to hallucinate after what had surely been hours of laying in the sun.
She lay before him, larger than a house, larger than his parents' workshop back home, the ocean lapping at her where she sat in the tide. "Is the glory of your hometown really more important than the lives of your crew?"
"Are they dead?" Khelios managed to grate out, his throat as dry and hot as the ground.
Her massive head lowered to look down at him. "They didn't have your gifts." He went to protest, to ask what gifts, but she tutted, silencing him. "Do you think you managed to survive being drowned before on your own? You just happened to swim all the way to the north, to Ken Durath? You were eight years old."
Something in him deflated then. All those years, he very much believed he'd done it on his own. That was foolish of him, don't you think? But some things you just don't realize until someone else tells you.
Solark told him of the things he'd never known, how he'd been born as a gate to the plane of water had been opened and he'd caught some of that divinity. Not a lot, but enough that the ocean could never hurt him, no matter how hard it tried. How the gate had brought with it the storms that populate that plane but are dangerous to humanoids. How she had been working to close it all this time but could not risk accidentally taking Khelian back to the plane of water with it. How the artifacts and components stored in the Water Temple were there to aid in her closing it. How she couldn't risk him taking them.
"I am sorry for that," she said, indicating the gash running down half his body. "But you humans are so stubborn."
And as he sat and spoke with Solark, he began to feel that all he had done was rash. There is something to having the sudden perspective of a demi-god that shifts your way of thinking.
"Is there something I can do to be sure my parents will be safe? And," and he almost dared not ask, "what of my crew?"
Solark watched him for a long moment with her large, sea-green eye. "Your parents will be safe if I move Sol Durath. Out of the way of the gate, so that I may close it for good."
"Move it?"
"Beyond the horizon. Where it is no longer in danger."
Khelios nodded, unsure what that meant exactly.
"As for your crew, much sacrifice would need to be made to revive them. The other elementals and I built this realm to be free of those who live forever."
"I only ask that they get to live despite my hubris. The rest of their natural lives."
Solark thought, and thought, and thought so long that Khelios began to believe she hadn't heard him. But as he went to open his mouth, she spoke. "Live here. On this island, one year of banishment for you and one for each of your crew. Live in poverty, without anger or greed or ill will, and if you can manage that I will bring your crew back."
So Khelios lived for twelve years on that small island, eating only what he could fish from the sea and wearing only what he could make. And in all that time he had no company but Solark, who would come to visit from time to time and tell him of the histories of the gods and the true nature of divinity. After some time, she came to tell him how divinity could be shared.
When twelve years had passed, and Khelios had learned to live without greed, and anger, and ill will controlling his life, Solark upheld her end of the bargain and revived the eleven members of his crew. However, they had spent so long as skeletons on the bottom of the sea that they were forever changed, and they did not come back as humans, orcs, elementals and dwarves, but as merfolk, who went on to populate the realm's seas.
And weary Solark, having made a true friend in Khelios, shared some of the burden of her divinity with him, granting him the title of the god of seas and storms.

Divine Domains

Tempest, Nature

Divine Symbols & Sigils

His priesthood wear hand-dyed purple robes with an emblem of storm clouds embroidered on them.

Holidays

Midsummer Festival in Dawnmoor

Divine Classification

demigod

Age

~2000

Circumstances of Birth

born as the gate to the plane of water was opening

Pronouns

he/him

Sex

male

Gender

man

Presentation

masculine

Eyes

blue-green

Hair

long, black & teal locs

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

deep brown/black, extensive scarring

Height

6'6"

Belief/Deity

Solark

Known Languages

common, primordial, orcish, dwarvish, aquan, draconic