Qhul’s Emergence
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Sand drifts in the ever-moving desert, though this time some of it has a purpose. It wasn’t sand however, it was salt, and quickly it was whisked into a spin until finally a person was formed. He did nothing for a while, then looked around and frowned-- until he looked further out, and then as a replacement a smirk etched itself on his face.
Whatever he had spotted he had found it important, for through the desert the salt walked. Soon he was upon it, a convoy it seemed. Desert people traveling just as he was, and he decided to travel with them. They told him much, just before the God had robbed them of all but their life through what seemed to be divine misfortune: the details unknown but one can assume it was slightly more than stealing.
With a grin, he looked back at the convoy, “I am Qhul of salt, and if any of thee fancy to have their possession granted back, perhaps praying to me will grant that.” The convoy simply looked between each other before starting an impossible game of chase and giving up after the next mile.
The god of salt was no kind creature, and he did not find solace in performing good deeds. No, the god would much rather cause misfortune, his existence possibly tied to it. Luckily for him the desert was where much misfortune would come, and unluckily for any who lived there this made the perfect place to create a foothold of which to base his cult.
