Born; Feral.
Focus; Arithmancy.
Those would have been the first lines on Rohkirrin's intake form. Had things ever gone differently. In truth, he was born in a roost, an Avianosi city on the shores of a now long forgotten island. A little over a meter tall and with glossy black feathers that were surprisingly difficult for those around to notice amid the foliage. One could not say he was a curious man, but the one thing that sparked his interest more than any other, was Magic. To Rohkirrin, all the kinds of magic were but perspectives of those limited by the world around them. While to his roost, Rohkirrin was the man who could warp trees into houses and preserve stores of food for seasons at a time. Among his most famous spells growing up was a class he taught the rest of the roost; how best to arrange a room to protect it. How to design a house to be a safe and secure hatchery, to protect eggs and food from the storms and packs of predators that may attempt to break in.
Every visitor to their little island, should they be considered friend by the community, was taught about these hatcheries; to spread the knowledge far and wide. What better way to help protect as many lives as possible. And in payment, Rohkirrin only ever asked to learn a little himself, a magic scroll, wand, piece of jewelry, whatever it may be. He had been ravenous for the first decade of his life, and the roost flourished for it. Many a time, his parents had tried to arrange his joining with one of the other birds; to continue the family line and perhaps extend the apparent potency of his blood. But too busy he always claimed to be.

One day, out of interest, he put his efforts toward calculating the distribution of the hatchery creation. The results at first confused him, but the more detail he forced from the calculations, the more explicit the results. Almost all hatchery's created were built by non-avianosi and yet held almost exclusively avianosi eggs. And of the Avianosi hatched at these sites, one singular, obedient focus was overwhelmingly common. His people were but servants, slaves to those who had before hunted them. A few isolated hatchery's could be located outside these trends, but if he could find them through what to Rohkirrin were simple calculations; any could find them. 
Some say the wind ran cold that day, ice across the sky visible from the world over. But such are only the stories of those looking back with wonder. What is known is that, upon this day his quest changed like the turning of a page. From the seeking of understanding, to the pressing of limits. The man Rohkirrin, not even among his roost's elder council, was able to call upon the aid of every roost in a hunt. Across the nations, four gems grew rare; Bloodstone, Carnelian, Pyrite, and Topaz. Amid his study, his manipulations of magic, it's believed he organized classes, groups studying under the greatest shadowlurkers from roosts in grander cities. 
The Keyfeathered Analyst prepared for a war like no others. A war even The Uniter and The Eternal Man would take pause to gaze upon. But history will not remember it as a war, flavoured as it is by those left behind and the swiftness of what was to come. He did not start a war, he instigated a heist.
It was on a bright night; when all three moons shone with full light and sat in an even line, when the 'army' descended.
All at once the groups broke into the 'farms' that bred his people. Rohkirrin gave not a moments notice to those he considered enemies. Locks were shattered, chains were rent, and those who believed it only right they serve, were subdued. Across the Archiplexus, no less than seventeen farms were conquered. The cities of Phoenel and Trecero were sieged from within. At least a quarter million were freed. 
A quarter of a million product stolen by he who would fashion himself god of thieves.
We were liberated, united by the seafront and slipped into the Modorril Crevasse and its network of caves. But there we could not stay. We needed a place to call our own. A place where we would not be taken back, a place we could grow our foods and build our houses to the style we like. No matter the wards he constructed, nothing would last forever. We retreated to Shaknelan after Shaknelan. A great place to hide for a time, but Trecero touches all Shaknelans eventually. And the Emperor of Bris order the search of all.
Some suggested underground hatcheries as safe retreats.
But if Rohkirrin could find them through mortal magic, it would be nothing for the Eternal Man should he take interest. 
One would believe Rohkirrin stressed, anxious, fearful or angry during this time. But many claim he was not. He poured over books. He organized a council of leaders to watch over the people, to keep the mass organized as best they could while moving. He seemingly had something more important to research. Something to plan or study. Something he could not reveal even to his closest 9 agents.

It's unclear how long the mass had been fleeing for before the third threat reared its head. In an effort to gather enough food to magically extrapolate in order to feed everyone, three of the agents organised a raid upon Mon Defacanol; a military outpost and farming community for the Defalotesa Lastragon tribe.
They successfully gathered enough food, but in doing so rattled a cage they had not intended, turning the eyes of the Lastragon tribes upon the wandering nation. Unable to fight three foes, and eventually backed into a corner near literally; at the cliffsedge now known as Rohkra's Bite, many took up arms in a hopeless desire to fight off a nigh unstoppable foe. In anger, Rohkirrin cast a spell it was believed he had been working on since before the initial heist. A spell it is claimed in hindsight was not yet complete.
The spell started by ripping into the rock around the cliffs, extending to the very limits of the hoard that had followed him that far. The island was torn apart as the section so chosen was wrenched high into the sky. When the new island settled just above the clouds, reality itself shuddered. Boulders the size of houses formed out of the air itself around the island, spreading out in a growing thread chunks of drifting stone. All at once, hundreds of massive islands snapped into existance among these threads. The thunder was deafening, flattening trees beneath where some islands formed, shattering clouds and cracking mountainsides they formed too close to. Yet all witnesses on this first island, Rohkra's Shard, claim the clearest sound was the screech of pain from the Analyst Rohkirrin himself.
The world over, heard only the thunder of appearance, the scream of new rock summoned into reality and suspended in the new prismatic net of the sky. And all at once a single unified assumption was made; this was the work of a god.
And as the world believed.
So it was to be.
The sky parted, ripped in layers above Rohkra's Shard, to reveal Rohkirrin looking down on the first island. Beyond and above this titanic avianosi, the beyond was wrent open to reveal him once again, and again, and again. And all Rohkirrin's reached down a step, reaching finally to the island and the new gods people. And with but a brush of the fingers, the physical, mutilated form of Rohkirrin was wiped from the world, leaving only the echoes of a god newly born, who closed the skies to leave the new Kirrik braids, and those raised above their oppressors, to fend for themselves.