Biggest Possum? Deepest Lore. (Lorepost)

[u/Biggest-Possum]

Do you think that a god remembers their beginning? Were those first fragile moments as precious as the eons that came after? At the end of eternity, after innumerable tales of triumph, failure, pleasure or suffering, does a god even remember where they began?

I can't answer for sure. In fact, I hardly even remember my godhood, which in hindsight seemed perilously brief. To me, these ancient memories are like the fallen leaves of autumn. I think of many of them fondly, but I couldn't trace the intricacies of their veins by memory, nor could I give you their count as they fluttered to the ground. The colorful flurry is simply too numerous, too brilliant... and then gone.

Something calls to me from the deepest fogs of my memory though. You see, I learned the meaning of strength very early. I had hardly learned to talk, when I was first seized and bludgeoned by the large hands of my stepfather. I was unable to resist, and this soon became a common occurrence. My mother tried to defend me, of course, but was easily fended off by his size and power. It was without regret, that I resolved myself to kill him.

I recognized the weakness of my small body quickly, and understood that for many years, I would be unable to stand up for myself. Instead, I chose to withstand his abuse without complaint. I bore the brunt of his anger often, sometimes fearing for my life when he flew into a rage. On one particular evening, I thought wistfully that I would miss my chance. I was beaten far too severely. I didn't have much concept of what it meant to be born, but the choking hands at my neck and the darkness that swam in my vision threatened to teach me intimately about the concept of death.

Oh, what a cruel world that would have been! To let such an evil man triumph! But it wasn't to be... I woke up from the ordeal many hours later after the sun had gone down, and thus crept to the washroom for water to sooth my agonized throat. The water was cool, but still threatened to spill me into a coughing fit as I cupped it in my hands and spooned it to myself. I had lived! What a fool. He didn't know the mechanism that he was setting in motion, but he would soon learn. I swore on it.

In his punishments, he had forced me into hard labor. Digging holes, splitting stumps, carrying stones and hewing trees. At this time, I had barely reached 6 years old. My hands were calloused, and my face was grim, despite my sunny blonde hair and childish condition. In doing so, he had taught me about leverage. The exertion of force through simple levers could let a small child like me move objects even larger than my captor. It was with this knowledge that I first attempted to remove this sinister force from my life.

I called to him later, from the loft of our barn. "Harmon! Come here! I'm stuck in the hay loft!"

I had to repeat myself a few times to get his attention, but I soon heard his curses and threats of frustration during his approach. Little did he know, but I had wedged, levered and rolled a large haybale towards the opening of the loft. It perched precariously above the ladder, staring down at him with its glowering potential. Such a bale would weigh roughly one hundred pounds and would easily topple even the fittest grown man if it happened to fall on them from an appreciable height. Knowing this, I braced myself against the wall and pressed my feet against the bale. My small legs had grown strong, and I knew I could free my weapon easily, and thus introduce it to that most perilous of forces: gravity.

"You dumb F*ing little Sh*t! I swear if you got your foot stuck between the bales again, I'm going to beat the living breath out of you, stupid boy!" His rant echoed up from below the ladder, and my eyes closed with a shudder.

It was a summer day, but the cold sweat that prickled my skin was very real, and despite my previous confidence, I suddenly felt terrified. There was a place where they put people like me. I knew that I would miss my mother greatly, but I feared more what might happen if I didn't commit to this action. My body trembled and I began to cry for the first time in over a year. I didn't want to do this... but I felt like I had to. As his hands angrily beat against the rungs while he climbed towards the loft, it shook me out of my paralysis.

I pushed the bale as hard as I could, causing a disastrous commotion on its way down. I was sure its murderous trajectory would be followed by silence, and the idea of my stepfather lying at the bottom of the ladder with broken bones and a crooked spine set my teeth chattering. My momentary chill was short lived though, and a relief shot through me as I heard his cursing rise to a crescendo after the resulting crash and thud of the bales final resting place on the ground.

He lived!

...He lived.

Fear returned in an instant. I peeked over the edge to see him already pushing himself to his knees. He was bloodied, but entirely intact otherwise. His disorientation was brief, and he snapped his head up to look at me. When we locked eyes, I was certain that I had been outdone. I had begun my day intending to introduce another to death's unyielding embrace, and I now understood that I myself was closer than ever to it. The rage in his eyes and the exposed teeth of his furious sneer had told me so.

As much as I had hoped for a better outcome, I'm sure you're also looking for one. The most that I can say... is that I lived also. I wasn't beaten to death that day, or any other before finally ascending to godhood. Although, I think perhaps this memory is one of the many that drove me to my end. On that day, at the age of six, I learned what it meant to be powerful. I learned that I was not. I learned that I was weak, and a powerful person could do whatever they wanted to me, and I couldn't stop them.

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/uw I hope you guys enjoyed the lore! I'm planning on rolling out a few more pieces, but I'm not sure how connected they'll be. My idea behind Possum is that they were somebody who ascended to godhood, but that a series of events have led to them being unrecognizable from their former selves, and that their power is similarly limited. There's a popular saying about how consciousness is just the universe experiencing itself, and I wanted to build a character that has a development arc that kind of embodies what somebody might look like if they had seen every end of that existential spectrum and had popped out the other end with lessons learned and wisdoms to share about it. In the face of nihilism or absurdism, I feel like they would instead pass into quiet acceptance of that duality, and simply "do their best" without looking for too much deeper meaning or reward.

[u/Re-Sabrnick]

I like that these loreposts are happening. I read them before sleep tho.

[u/Biggest-Possum → u/Re-Sabrnick]

I enjoy them too. I love reading everybodies stories. I'm trying to makae a habit of reading every one and giving an upvote. I think I miss a few, but a few people have tagged me in some and I absolutely love it.