The Thunder God could not remember a time when he had been so tired.
He thought back to an age... long ago.
Back then, he drew his strength from faith.
The mortal denizens of the Realm... the people...
All peoples, under the sun and clouds and sky...
His people.
For his miracles, they would shower him with endless praise... honest and true, as only their soft, mortal hearts could give.
It was only after that age had past... that he realized he was not a kind god.
On his darker whims, he would strike the clouds with his Storm Axe, bringing thunder, lightning, and hail.
The rumbling roars of the clouds scattered the mortals.
They built shelters. They banded together in tribes for warmth and safety.
They died.
...Yet some did not.
He grew fond of those. He sang with them, dancing and stomping his feet.
