MichaelLlewr

The God of Gods, who had been called Ao since he left his old stellar sphere aeons ago and usurped control of Abier-Toril’s pantheon at the nascence of human civilization, was now retired.  Countless ages, their triumphs and tragedies, had passed before His all-seeing eyes, and each one wearied him more than those before. Glory and conquest faded to responsibility and mundanity, and even the yoke of duty felt uselessly loose. A careless shrug and it was unseated, and so what good was any of it? He’d built, with the blood and bones and souls of Toril’s inheritor gods, a great crystal sphere around the worlds that orbited the star Amaunator. A bulwark against the hostile Elder Gods in spaces beyond time and reason, and though cracks and seams had appeared, and been mended, the barrier had held. But it had come at great cost, and although Ao had presented an uncaring, uncompassionate edifice to the gods that had agreed to serve Him, each loss needled into Him until the weight of tragedy