The Gods

Game Master Cdawg

"If there is one thing you need to know about Gods..." Said the old Wizard, as he tapped the ashes out of his pipe then refilled it with fresh pipe weed.

"...it's that they are all, without exception, and that includes the good ones..." The Wizard continued as he knocked the ash from his long white beard and relit his pipe.

"...A bunch of f!+~ing dicks."

"Not quite the opinion I was expecting when I inquired of one of the most knowledgeable wizards I know as to the nature of the Divine." The bookish young man admitted in surprise at the Wizard's answer.

"What would you have me say? The Gods are formidable beings, formed from Astral essence, the power of Ideas, into a latticework of reality altering power without form or function beyond the application of intellect and will. Unbound completely from physical existence the Gods are the greatest power in the multiverse bar none and know nothing of pain, weakness, or vulnerability." The Wizard replies, taking a few long satisfying puffs on his pipe.

"They have all the perfection the ego could desire and have all the power the Id could want. They are truly beings unbound by mortal frailty."

"Why do you insult them then?" The young man asked. "They sound like beings beyond fear or desire."

"No." The old wizard responded. "For though they can do anything they want to us and the world, even to our most closely held concepts of identity and reality, there are still those who frustrate them and their desires and who can bring them a true death."

"Who?" The young man asked.

"Each other." The Wizard replies with a thoughtful look. "If this multiverse had one God instead of twenty perhaps there would be peace, but the Great Game continues on between them and we are the pawns on the board, if we find ourselves one of the individuals unfortunate enough to be caught up in it, any conceit we may hold that we are masters of our own destiny vanishes the second we realize what is happening. We are pawns in a cruel game, that is why I condemn the Gods."

"Are you saying that we mortals don't have free will?" The young man asks, looking perturbed.

"Oh, we do, it is just that everything we are and everything we know can be swept away in an instant."

"A terrifying thought!" The young man exclaims. "To think that everything can be manipulated or destroyed by a will far beyond our own at a whim! What can we do in the face of that?"

"For me..." The old Wizard says as he stares out across his beautiful, well maintained garden surrounding his tower and puffing on his pipe.

"I enjoy a good smoke."

Cyric sat upon the Supreme Throne, the baroque monstrosity of a seat from which he glared in judgement out across the multiverse and plotted the murder of all beings.

Appearing currently as a hawk nosed youth with alabaster skin and eyes that were black pools of darkness, the foul Lord of Murder lounges causally as his latest minion petitioner approached down the mile long corridor of his titanic fortress throne room and bowed, kneeling before him.

The man was a huge Blackguard in ebony spiked plate mail with a huge greatsword strapped across his back.

"Why have you traveled the planes to stand before me, my servant?" Cyric asks, speaking up a bit to be heard over the constant cacophony of shrieking shades that made up the decorations in his palace, countless spirits of his failed servants bound to the pillars and walls of his fortress and screaming in agony as various heinous tortures were applied to them.

All too aware that the spirit's fate could potentially be his own the Blackguard cleared his throat.

"Ahem, my name is King Thoneis Rex, my God, and as your humble servant I ask you to consider my worthy deeds so that I may be considered for ascension into a Demigod in you service."

Summoning a blood red dagger out of thin air and picking at his nails with it Cyric disinterestedly asks; "And what are your worthy deeds, King? I haven't been paying attention."

"I slew my father and my whole family to become King. As King I made your religion the sole state religion and murdered all who spoke out against you or refused to worship you publicly. I then sequentially invaded six other kingdoms and did the same there. I slew the Solar Marial who served Torm the True and offered his heart up to you then finally sacrificed each one of my ten children to you, my Dark God."

"Is all that true?" Cyric asks the Marilith Demon resting at the base of his throne, as the six armed serpentine female searched at a rapid pace through records, each arm shuffling documents quickly as she played the role of secretary to the evil God, Cyric looked off to one side, his gaze distant, as he plucked the truth from history.

"Never mind! It is true! Well done, so you would like to serve me as a Demigod?" He asked the King.

Encouraged by the Gods pleased tone the Blackguard nodded. "If it would please your greatness I would love to serve!"

"Let me ask you this." Cyric says, standing and idly walking back and forth in front of his throne, skillfully turning the dagger in his hand over and over, rolling it with his fingers.

"Are you loyal to me, completely and totally loyal to me? Would you sacrifice your life to serve my greatness?"

"Of course my lord! I would do anything for you! I would die for your glory and to exalt your greatness above all others!" The King declared passionately.

"I see." Cyric says as he suddenly appears directly in front of the kneel Blackguard, without appearing to have moved.

"And why would I ever want to be served by some idiot so foolish that he would put another creatures well being ahead of his own?" Cyric comments as he rams the blade into the Kings throat.

The King dies choking on his own blood and once he falls to the ground Cyric rips out his shade and tosses it at the nearest wall, becoming impaled on some spikes and then bursting into greenish flames for no immediately apparent reason and howling in agony, stuck fast.

"That's the last of the petitioners for today." Says the Marilith, checking her paper work.

Cyric laughs. "A hundred fools begging at a Gods throne today, another hundred shades for my torture walls...Hmmm, now I am bored." He says turning away.

"I think I'll go visit the Succubi for some proper entertainment."

A few hours in the life of the Harbinger of Change

Scrapeknee yawned and stretched, slipping loose from the pile of women, some definitely not human in appearance, some barely humanoid, but that was the way of it in Spiral Haven. Those who had worshiped him in life, now were in a paradise where they could take any form they wanted so while many did want to look like idealized versions of their old selves at first, most soon got into the hang of indulging in their whims and transitioning often.

He hobbled, in that way of his, towards the window that overlooked his spiritual domain, a cup of liquid appearing in his hand as he did so. Towers, some incredibly tall, others spires that floated above it all, extended far above the huge trees below.

Worshipers flew through the air, on whatever wings they could imagine. A great chaotic flock of individuals who never really tired of flight. A few swung among the tree branches, and some contented themselves with ground level as they walked or ran on cobblestone paths that seemed out of place in the vast wilderness.

He peeked into the mortal realm, extending his senses. Scrapeknee chuckled at something, "I wonder how he'd feel if I had every pipe he put lip to suddenly taste like ear wax? Ah...not worth the effort."

With a thought, he extends himself to another location in the mortal ream. An avatar, some would call it, this time in the appearance of a beggar with a limp. The city of Sagras thinks itself special, but then ever city does. The rich ignore the poor, the poor beg the rich for aid while being ignored, and so on.

"Alms, alms for the poor," he calls out, falling into character. His hobble grows more exaggerated. Few pay him any mind, but as he continues to move, he sees a frustrated man beating a horse. Scrapeknee is no lover of animals per se, but he rolls his eyes at the man punishing the beast for 'disobeying' when a simple glance at the hoof would let him know a stone had lodged in it.

The man raises the whip again, but by the worst of misfortune, the crack of it goes wrong, striking another rider in passing, a well armed burly rider. The warrior drops from his horse furious, and turns on the man beating his animal, "Dog! You dare?!"

"Mercy, Master, mercy!" The whip has gone amusingly limp in the wielder's hand, and Scrapeknee walks by the horse, touching it on the flank. With the spectacle of a warrior using the flat of a scimitar on the ass of a man who had accidentally struck him, no one seems to notice an horse dwindle into a statuette so small a beggar can slip it into his Robes.

He moves on, amused.

A trio of old women, beyond sixty winters each, are washing clothes in a fountain and complaining about their aches. The water begins to suddenly bubble and froth, like a cauldron, but with no heat. The spray splashes the women in a gasp, and now three youthful women, more beautiful than they were the last time were this age, blink at each other in confusion. The twenty year old lovelies will find that no one believes them when they tell them who they are. They will not be welcome or recognized in their own homes with this curse of disbelief they carry regarding their past. They have health, they have beauty, but now they must build their lives anew. Will they be forced to sell themselves on the street? Or will they take this chance and reinvent themselves in a prosperous way?

"Alms!" Scrapeknee calls out again.

He smiles as he hears a game of dice clattering in a bowl before release. A half dozen men play for small stakes, not that they would not like to play for more, but it's all they have.

"By Scrapeknee," One calls out in frustration as his dice roll poorly, "Just once I would like to roll sixes!"

Scrapeknee felt a smirk cross his face as he was called on by a man who had no idea how close he was. The man who complained gasped, and made choking sounds as he collapsed upon himself, shrinking, shrinking, and then finally parting into two small dice.

The other five men remembered nothing, grabbing the better new set of dice, and rolling.

It came up double sixes.

"You're welcome," Scrapeknee said with a grin. One of the gamblers shook his head at the daft old beggar talking to himself.

The sun had moved to its apex and Scrapeknee wandered by a group of bored noble youth. Remembering what he had in his pocket, he throw it up into the air, and the animal became a horse again, but not just any horse. It was a prime white stallion, no stone in its hoof at all, and well sculpted like the great racers that all nobles coveted. Then, then it grew wings and flew over the noble youths.

"A winged horse!"
"Impossible!"
"I had heard stories, but never had I imagined..."
"I must have it for my stables!"
"No, such a prize would surely win me Jazmine's hand!"

And off the young nobles went , beginning a quest that could lead them to death or glory , the prize, a winged steed!

Much better than them wasting their time standing around either way.

"Alms!" The beggar cried as he moved to another area.

A woman put a coin in his bowl, almost as if ashamed to be seen doing so.

"So ashamed of charity?" he asked.

"My husband does not approve of it," She whispered, "Please do not tell anyone, good beggar."

"You rely on this man for the coin you give me?" he asked, but knew the answer.

"I suppose I do," She admitted, "I was taught nothing else but to cook and clean, and must beg to him as you beg to me. It is, what it is."

"Until it isn't," Scrapeknee took the coin and bit it, "you give me good silver. I will give you good steel. Earn your own way and enjoy."

The warrioress snorted in confusion, the blade at her side, and the chain shirt adorned with a sash, "What do you mean? I carry my own steel, beggar. And with it, I may one day carve out a kingdom!" Perhaps the lady fighter was just boasting, or maybe she meant it. Regardless the now tall and well muscled woman strode off with confidence in her battle skill.

Scrapeknee looked about the city. It was not yet evening, but he had caused enough changes to amuse him in this place for now. Perhaps he would return and see which of the seeds he planted would grow, and in what way?

He took a new form, looking a bit like a noble himself as he moved at an easy limp towards the gates.

A voice called out, "Alms!"
Scrapeknee turned, and broke out laughing, for there was now a beggar imploring him for charity.

"It is cruel to laugh at the poor, sir," The mortal beggar said.

"It is even crueler to stifle laughter I think, but I will make you an offer. I have on me a silver coin. I will give you it, and nine others if you can answer a riddle," Scrapeknee proposed.

The beggar posed, "And will you beat me or some other cruelty if I fail it?"

"I might," Scrapeknee answered, "But then, if I am as cruel as you think, I might also beat you for refusing. Inaction is no protection in this world."

"True," The beggar said, "Ask the riddle"

Scrapeknee grinned.
"An iron horse with a flaxen tail.
The faster the horse runs,
the shorter his tail becomes.
What is it?"

The beggar looked stumped, mumbling to himself for what must have been minutes, until finally he took a nervous swallow and said , "Is it... a needle and thread?"

"It is," Scrapeknee dumped the ten silver into this beggar's bowl, "And well done. What's your name, sir."

"Ahmed Ashar," The beggar lifted his chin with an echo of some past pride.

"I may return for more riddle games, some time, Ahmed," Scrapeknee said, "I do not always answer them well, but I enjoy testing others."

"I noticed the latter, my lord, and welcome more chances for your coin in the future," Ahmed Ashar paused, "My lord, does this testing, does it ever get old for you?"

"Never!" Scrapeknee grinned, revealing himself now in the form of a man with asymmetrical horns on his head, "For I keep changing the prizes. " He put a finger to his lips in a shhhushing motion to the wide eyed and now terrified beggar, "Next time, I'll give you a chance to win gold."

The Beggar swallowed again, and nodded.

And the god was gone.

It was Golden Carnival, a holiday for numerous religions, Michazra's included. She had arranged it so that this would be the day She answered to the prayers of Her faithful. Unbeknownst to the daemons, Michazra actually quite enjoyed this activity, as it let Her take a close look at the life of the mortals. Daemons would naturally detest the goddess's bizarre liking of the living, so the Lying Mistress did Her best to hide it.

With Her was Qranatho, highly-ranked male erodaemon, to assist his goddess. Qranatho was charismatic, cunning and ruthless - likely the reason he had become one of the assistants of the Lying Mistress. Qranatho had an ambition of his own: he aimed to seduce the goddess and rise in ranks to become one of the Four Horsemen. He and the goddess were close, but not as close as Qranatho wanted.

"Next one is from a cleric from the kingdom of Werdi," Qranatho said.

"My, why does that place sound familiar?" the goddess asked, pretending to be uninterested, and sighed.

"It's the same kingdom that had its king executed for hogging the crown for a century and half. You found it worth observing."

"Oh, that was Werdi? It was quite humorous. Old man became a lich because his son was too immature to rule the land. Shame about the phylactery though." Michazra leaned forward on Her throne of skeletons. "Anyway, what's the prayer?"

The erodaemon frowned. For years he had been addressing his goddess informally as "you" instead of the usual "Your Deathlessness". She allowed it, and Qranatho took it as a sign of progress. Yet that's as far as he's been able to get, and that frustrated him.

"The prayer goes: 'O God Thief, answer me and my ambitions are blessed! I am ruthlessly stalked by paladins and inquisitors of opposing faiths, and I fear I cannot evade them much longer. What shall I do?' The rest is the usual cleric mumbo-jumbo."

Michazra sighed. "If I had a penny every time..."

"You'd still be as rich as you are now. What with the infinite gold and all," Qranatho joked.

"True, true. I'll tell them to find resolve from within, lie their way out, and offer some tips on spell selection. The guy does prepare undetectable alignment, right?"

"I'll have to confirm that later. Next one is from Zin. Oh, this one's from a commoner. 'Lady of ambitions, I don't know if you can hear me, but tomorrow will be very important for us. My husband and I are escaping from the country in secret, and moving to Coelia in the dead of night. Please watch over us, living on the countryside has been our life-long dream.' Wow, hearing this crap all day is making me sick."

"Indeed, what a lousy prayer," Michazra echoes. "I'm afraid this one will go unanswered. Maybe I'll send some undead to kill those lovebirds on their way, just to send a message."

"Poor little mortal, denied by the goddess!" Qranatho laughed. "You are as cruel as you are beautiful, Michazra."

"Cruelty has little to do with it. The ambition in question was simply too lame for my tastes." This was one of Michazra's favorite tricks: a double lie. Most daemons would assume the Lying Mistress was simply feeling like watching a mortal's hopes crushed and wanted to lie about it.

But Qranatho wasn't like most daemons. "Cut the act, dear. We both know you like mortals with all kinds of desires. You just have to keep up appearances with other daemons. You don't have to do that around me."

Michazra said nothing. For a moment there was silence, then the erodaemon screamed in agony as divine wrath befell him. Intense negative energy began to rot his muscular body. Amidst his suffering Qranatho managed to whisper, "Forgive me".

"I do not need to forgive you," Michazra's voice thundered. "I do not need your service. I do not need your jokes. I do not need anything from you and I definitely do not need you blackmailing me."

While she spoke, Qranatho had already become a mindless walking corpse. Once that corpse had been among the strongest of daemons, a being with its own hopes and ambitions but now those very same ambitions had betrayed him. His soul would be forever trapped in a piece of meat, wondering what could have been.

Michazra she no tears for the loss of her closest friend.

"I have already stolen what I needed."

In his private Wordforge, Atheos balanced on one leg, his face a picture of indecision. "I understand the equations,” he called out impatiently, ”But what does it do? Explain it to me as you would to an ordinary, uneducated human, as a thing without a simple purpose is a thing not truly understood by its creator.”

”Well…” began the Assistant Head Librarian for Special Projects, preparing to recite the project’s mission statement.

”No,” the god cut him off, in a voice stern but not angry. ”This is the problem with Axiomites—when you first arrive on my plane, many of you still need to learn individuality. Use your own words. Write on the walls, if it helps. And think, first, for as long as you need to. I will wait.”

Finally, an hour later, the librarian spoke. ”It undoes, by example.” Atheos nodded, and the librarian continued. "It does not destroy, or argue against. It simply seeks out miracles, and those who perpetuate them, rewinding their effects, step by step, exposing the spells used, the words spoken. Any gods called upon are called again, with the same rites observed—any proper divine spells are repeated. Hidden tricks, sleight of hand, arcane deception; all these are made clear in the undoing or the repetition.”

”Inevitables hunt down and punish specific transgressions against the law,” the librarian continued, and Atheos raised a single disappointed finger. ”Ah,” he corrected himself, "Thank you. The vast majority of Inevitables previously constructed and demonstrated useful were designed to punish specific transgressions against the law. This one is no different from that general standard, only subtler than average in its targets and their punishment. It seeks out charlatans of all kinds, and it punishes them by exposing the truth. You asked for an Inevitable more practical and questioning than the vast majority we left behind on Axiom, and I think this may be a useful direction. It’s a project that’s been in the works for centuries, and I’m somewhat surprised that it’s stalled for so long—but now we have a prototype.”

Atheos paced the room, eyeing the humanoid construct, its flawless features, its artistic mithral tracery. ”And if some ‘miracle worker’ should take offense at being proven a fool, and seek to destroy our valuable creation?”

”The armored plating,” the Librarian responded, ”Highly resistant to magic. More so than a typical Inevitable of this size. An obvious precaution.”

”And against weapons?”

”No vulnerability to any blade,” and now the librarian dared to smile, just a bit, recalling the hard work done, ”Armor protects the internal weak points and power core, thick and sturdy metal, and the thing has excellent reflexes for dodging and parrying.”

”And when your average peasant, used to an unchallenged life, sees this thing denounce his local god, and begins flinging rocks, mud, and stick at it in anger?” Atheos asked, pulling a pebble out of the air and flicking it forward with his finger. With a loud crack, the the pebble caught in a neck joint, and whirring gears pulled it inside the construct with a series of sickening crunching noises. Ten seconds later, the Inevitable collapsed under its own weight, began to emit gray smoke, and with a loud bang sent its head flying across the room, shattering one of the many writing boards on impact.

”It’s a good project,” Atheos explained, to a stunned and speechless Assistant Head Librarian. ”Hopefully it won’t be another three centuries before I see the next prototype—and then we can start asking the hard questions. Welcome to the team, and let’s get back to the drawing board.”

Cil'dr is currently in his office at the center of Visgar. His Attention is divided amongst his 3 Lieutenants and even several hundred of his "Shadows"* requiring his attention from anywhere on his plane. For the past 38 Hours this is all he has been doing. Organizing so many people isn't simple, even for a god, and making sure everyone of these individuals was working together is something only a god could perform.

*Shadows are the outsiders created from the souls of Cil'dr followers.

The Ache in his existence was worse than normal, it was why he had been working so hard of late. Right now was a particularly bad time for his followers, being pressured on several fronts. Every time one of his followers died Cil'dr could feel it, and he could feel that the last week had been particularly bad. Especially since his followers on Tur were having a poor solar cycle and the famine was starting to get bad.

Most of his attention was focused on this task, he was most Often talking to Zilia, his lieutenant overseeing the logistics portion of his faith. The southern continent was dealing with the famine much better than the north, and so we were organizing sacrifices from communities that could afford it while also looking for sacrifices from other worlds that we could send to those who needed it.

Over here a thieves den was being raided, there some revolutionaries were being rounded up, and over there new converts were praying to survive the harsh winter as their father/husband had been killed by wolves.

He worked to get the thieves information on where and when they were being attacked, the revolutionaries just needed some weapons and so tried to get sacrifices for weapons to allow them to escape, He personally(only a sliver of him but still) appeared to the Family who lost their father/Husband.

As always he appeared simply as a shadow on a wall, he knew they would need something only he could give to survive, the eldest son simply heard "do you agree to protect your family even in death?"

"yes" he muttered

"all Cil'drians are your family now." and I blessed him, his skin turned pitch black and his eyes shown like a cats, he gave him the strength to fight on for his family, and when he finally died he would serve in Visgar.

Then his sliver returned, the ache remained... he could tell today was going to be a busy day.

Cil'dr had several rules that impacted why and how he behaved.
Firstly, this is THEIR struggle, they must save themselves, you must simply guide and organize them. So long as you do this they may eventually no longer need your help and can be used to help others.

fifthly, never lie, your followers may lie, but you should never lie, it may cause you to eventually lie to a follower, an inexcusable act.

Adriel sat at the Round Table of Chivalry, a table that had longed gathered dust before he found Avalon. Ah he remembered the day like it was yesterday...

Untold centuries ago...

Adriel looked upon the strange island, shrouded in mists.

Tell me, Sir Arno the Justful Fang, what is this strange isle, the Angelic Paladin asked the hound archon beside him.

I'm...not sure...we only know that it be a strange place. It's not unholy...I think.

I already know that by simply looking at it. Just then, a small boat appeared, cutting through the mists.

The boat soon stopped at the bank and then a celestial mermaid appeared and held up a sword, saluting Adriel.

Hark! Be ye the one who sprang forth from his holy mother's womb fully grown and dressed to do battle?

That would be me, yes, Adriel replied.

Then the four maidens in the boat sang a joyous heavenly tune.

It was foretold that a god would come to Heavenly Avalon and be its guardian and steward! Many gods have come forth but none were deemed worthy of such an honor! Yet ye Adriel, the Vigilant Knight has come forth! Come forward and be tested.

And what is this test?

That is for you to discover, the Lady of the Lake answered in reply. Behind him, the angels and archons began to argue what the test would be. Everything from vile monsters to paradoxical riddles was suggested, but Adriel, as he looked at Avalon, soon had the answer.

He unsheathed his sword and drove it into the ground. Then, after removing his helmet and resting it beside his sword, he then knelt down and took hold of the hilt of his sword. Then he spoke...

A knight is sworn to valor. His heart knows only virtue. His blade defends the helpless. His might upholds the weak. His word speaks only truth. His wrath undoes the wicked. For this is the Code...the Code of Chivalry.

Then the four Maidens of the Mists and the Lady of the Lake sang a chorus of joy.

Ye has past the test, Adriel, the Invincible Guardian! Rise and be recognized as the Lord of Chivalry!

Upon the completion of the Lady of the Lake's words, Adriel rose and turned to look at the archons and angels behind him. They knelt in awe in presence, before rising and saluting him and shouting.

All hail Adriel, the Angelic Paladin, God of Chivalry!

The present...well, present for a god at least...

Adriel rose from his chair. I think it best if I pay Atheos a visit.

Babaki clung to the roof of the Grand Tent, his form that of a purple shoggoth with an oversized, leering clown head. He loomed over almost the entire Tent from his perch, watching the two beings in the central arena desperately fight for their lives. On the left side of the arena was Arkaidak, a bloated son of Babaki, towering over the arena in the shape of a four-armed red troll. To the right was Jerik, a banana-yellow vrock and the latest addition to the Grand Tent's impressive lineup of performers and gladiators. The stands where empty, as the Tent only opened when the mood struck its Master.

The Lord of Teeth watched with mild interest as the vrock ducked and dodged away from his son's iron claws. His attention was fully gained when Jerik jabbed at Arkaidak's ribs with his talons.

"No, no, NO!" the god cried as he oozed down the wall and slithered over to the pit. The combatants were momentarily paralyzed with fear as the god shifted from his shoggoth form to that of a short Orcish man, still with his trademark facepaint and unmoving grin. Babaki slapped his hand onto the vrock's shoulder, causing it to flinch. "Now, Jerik," the god said cheerfully, "I know you're new here, and that's fine! Everyone's a newbie at some point. However..." The god suddenly dug his nails into the demon's flesh, making it bite back a scream. "It seems you've misunderstood why you're here."

Babaki shoved the vrock onto the floor, and leered down at him with his unchanging smile. "You are here to entertain me. Now, that jab? That was a good hit. It probably hurt like a b~&@*. But it didn't look painful, you hear me? In other words, it was kind of boring" The god turned to face his monstrous son, who at this point was standing completely straight and avoiding eye contact. "Now, Jerik? Look here. Watch me. Don't take your eyes off me for a second."

The god manifested a simple club in one hand, and threw it into the air before catching it again. Without warning, Babaki whipped the club into his son's knee, making a sickening crunch and eliciting a scream of agony from the monster. As it knelt down on its injured knee, Babaki swung the club directly into the troll's face, completely crushing its lower jaw and spraying blood on the floor. The vrock watched, transfixed as his master brutally brought the club down on the troll again and again.

The stupor was broken as Babaki spoke to him, not pausing his assault on the broken form of his son. "Now, the trick *WHAM* is to aim for *WHAM* where the bone is closest *WHAM* to the skin! This *WHAM* ensures that the impact *WHAM* isn't absorbed by the flesh! *WHAM*" The god looked down at the crushed remains of what was once his offspring, his face still a smiling mask but his eyes glowing with joy. "Thank you for your assistance, boy! You'll certainly be getting extra dessert this evening!"

The Lord of Teeth turned away from the already regenerating body of his child, and stared the vrock right in the eyes. "And that's all there is to it, my friend! Did you get all that," the god happily asked, "or would you like another demonstration? I believe my boy's had enough for today, so if you need more help, you'd need to stand in for him." Jerik, still slightly stunned by the intrusion on his fight, silently gave its master a thumbs up. If anything, the god's smile got bigger. "Splendid! In that case, I must be off. I'm looking forward to your performance tonight." Suddenly, the god vanished in a puff of purple smoke, leaving behind a very confused vrock and a very angry sack of regenerating troll bones.

The boy’s pickaxe fell to his feet as he collapsed on the ground, exhausted. He felt a whip hit his back as he struggled to stand back up, knocking him down again. “Up,” he heard the dwarf say, her voice gruff. He grunted as he tried to stand, lifting the ax. He collapsed back to the ground again, scraping his elbow. He clenched his teeth, a clench which only tightened when the whip hit him again. He heaved. The faint torchlights, the salty sediments, they all blurred. The sound of his fellow slaves smacking their axes against the cave walls fell out of focus, as did the feeling of the next whip.

The boy’s handler gave up after a few whips. “This one’s dropping,” she shouted after a moment. Her tone was unsure, but not distressed. It was a routine occurrence. The boy had learned that the first day he was down here… gods, how long ago had that been? Three years? Four? He’d been twelve last he celebrated his nameday, he knew that. He’d not really kept track of time since.

The world around the boy faded further as he heard a half-orc come down the mines to collect him. He closed his eyes as the world around him grew blacker, the sounds around him fuzzier, the feeling of scattered crystals of salt against his scraped elbow fainter.

“Woah, that was a close one,” the boy heard. His pain vanished and reality snapped into focus. He was no longer on the ground, but being held in the arms of a… what in the nine hells was that thing? His eyes widened. “You’re welcome,” the being said, putting the boy down.

The slave handlers, both the dwarf and the half-orc, looked at the being in awe. It was about ten feet tall. It was pitch black, but for some weird green stripe running across its body. Its fingers were pointed, and its head was shaped weird, like… like some kind of bird? It had these odd spikes coming off the back of its head.

One of the slavers, the half-orc, stammered as the being stood. The being ignored him, as did the boy. He looked instead at his own torso. Not a single lashing to be found… and he couldn’t feel the recent ones on his back either. He looked back up at the being, mouth agape. His feet not touching the ground, the being zoomed up and down the cave as a blur for a few moments before stopping again in front of the half-orc.

“Sorry, you were saying something?”

The half-orc stammered more. The being snapped his fingers and the slavers disappeared. The boy’s eyes widened. The being turned around and looked at him. He floated toward him, causing the boy to step back. The being smiled. “You holding up okay?” he asked. The boy looked up at him. “Who are you?” he asked. “What did you do to the handlers?”

“They’re outside,” the being said. “I didn’t hurt them. I have some people who work for me out there who’ll have no trouble pacifying them. I’m Zodaxus by the way.” Zodaxus reached into his pocket and handed the boy two ticket. The boy looked down at them. His eyes widened. Elvish! He hadn’t seen elvish text since before he was in the mines. “I’ve got stuff to do outside,” Zodaxus said. “Keep one of those for yourself and offer the other to the rest of the people in here as you leave.”

The boy gasped. “Leave?” His mouth opened into a beam. He hadn’t left in so long. Would he really see the sun again?

Zodaxus smiled. “By the time you get out there, my friends will have cleared out all the slavers who would stop you. Anyways, pass out those invitations as you leave. As long as you keep the one for yourself, new ones will appear each time you pass out the second one. There’s instructions on how to use it on the ticket. It doubles as a scroll of transportation modified so anyone can cast it to get to my palace. Got all that?”

“I-I… I can go… outside?”

Zodaxus nodded. “Yep, and those invitations are to a fly party I’m throwing celebrating that fact. So, do you mind passing them out for me?”

The boy looked up. He started nodding. “I… s… sure. I’ll do it. Th…. thank you.”

“Sweet,” Zodaxus said. He disappeared in a flash of light, leaving only a puff of smoke in the shape of the word “Awesome” behind. The boy chuckled. He looked to his right for the other slave to give the invitation to.

"Advice?" the old man said, "No, I don't imagine I have much to give. Be kind to one another. Be as the Lion God said, and work with one another. Appreciate the small moments. Comfort her, help her in her times of need. Allow her to help you when it is your time of need. You'll do fine. Be not afraid." The old traveling priest clasped a hand to the bridegroom's shoulder. After a second of thought, he added "Make sure the little ones are taken care of, both yours and her first husband's."

It was not a working trip for the Mothers' Hope. Most often, when he entered the Material Plane, he was there to give some inspiration to a would be cleric, or impart the gift-slash-curse to an oracle. He had been on somewhat of a Material Plane spree in the last century or so. It was time for him to relax. A wedding would be nice.

This particular village, Osoro had been here before. Several times over the last couple of decades. It was good for what it was. A strong community, with many families and happy memories. Picture-esque. The way that he wanted.

He took the form of an old man, wizened, gray and almost wasted away. He could have taken a more proper deific form. It would make this wedding something more to remember. But it would steal away from the couple's happy day. He was here to share in their happiness.

Plus, this way, he could honestly tell him that his other wives were in Kiniun Isinmi without lying, and it would not be nice to lie to someone on their wedding day.

One of his wives, the only one to make it to the material plane with him, cuddled a cat that Osoro vaguely recognized. A Silvanshee, he was pretty sure. His wife, similarly wizened in guise, approached him.

"Sir Beauford the Colt has slain the Hag Mother in Cyranno," she whispered. The mad witch had been raiding that city for months, terrorizing families and stealing children for foul and necromantic purposes.

Osoro chuckled. "Good, good, he's a fine young paladin. Many blessings upon him and his family. Be sure to remind me when he finally settles down."

He leaned in and kissed her. She was his 91st wife, once a powerful mortal enchantress so many years ago. He had had two children with her, he was pretty sure. Still so beautiful. "We should get back to the wedding. There will be dancing soon, and I brought a bottle of wine."

Barakus was not always the herald of Tharros. In fact, it would not have been possible for serving such a god to have been further from the mortal's mind. Barakus sought retribution, not servitude, when he broke through the barrier to the Realm of Ruin so that he could challenge what he saw as the cause of all that ails the world. It may have been a vain attempt to overthrow such a callous lord, but his sacrifice would inspire far greater deeds when it was retold. Barakus was sure of this.

"Look at me, demon! Look at me and answer for your crimes against humanity!" Barakus called out across the void that was the home of Tharros only to be met with inaction, the cowled form of Tharros unflinching in the face of this intrusion. Frustration filled Barakus' veins, for he felt both the glory he desired and the magic that protected him from the foul influence of Tharros slipping away. His footprints across the featureless gray soil were the first to be made in eons, a testament to the bravery of Barakus that remain to this day. Truly, his bravery was legendary as Barakus continued venturing forward, through both the stench of decay and the fear that assaulted his sense, marching closer to the true form of Tharros than any mortal had before or since.

It was this courage, this determination in the face of oblivion, that caused Tharros to honor the mortal in a way he had only done for a dozen souls before: he noticed Barakus. The form of the god of death shifted beneath his robes, his nearly skeletal hand searching for the cane that supported his hunched form. Barakus' stride stuttered in the wake of this activity, frozen in apprehension. Had he finally gotten through and invited the wrath of this devil upon himself? Shield still in hand, Barakus took up a defensive posture, knowing full well how little protection it actually afforded him. At last, Tharros rose, a rasp of air akin to a groan escaping from his tired form. Even hunched against his staff as he was, Tharros towered over the human before him, the face beneath his cowl fully revealed to the mortal even in the absence of light that pervaded his realm. This was the first time Barakus felt himself waver, a lump rising in his throat that nearly threatened to choke him.

Not even Tharros himself could explain what led him to do what came next. Maybe the countless years of isolation had finally taken their toll or perhaps the god merely wished to share his burden and saw in Barakus a mortal that would understand. Regardless, the left hand of Tharros extended toward Barakus as a deliberate and hoarse whisper echoed from every corner of the realm. "Take my hand. You will see what I see."

At first, Barakus scoffed at the notion; everyone knew the Touch of Tharros meant only death. And yet, here he was, staring longingly at the outstretched hand offered to him, so enticed by the rewards it promised. To see the universe as the sightless god does? In the face of a god, wrath and revenge had subsided, completely consumed only by awe and a desire to know. The unsteady hand of Barakus reached out in this moment, gingerly creeping its way toward the unwavering hand of Tharros until fingertips slid against one another.

It took only an instant for Tharros to convey the message he wished, the weight of the revelation forcing the frail mortal body of Barakus to the unforgiving ground, his breathing erratic and his body shivering in shock. For all the lamenting done in the mortal realms about the Curse of Tharros, Barakus was the first to witness the Gift, the final reward promised to all life, its inevitability for all ensured by Tharros' existence. It was only a second but Barakus saw infinity; he glimpsed the Blisslands as only a god not distracted by the mortal realm could. It was happiness beyond understanding, true freedom from the machinations and fanciful whims of the gods. Barakus could only lay upon the ground and weep, emotions both familiar and alien overwhelming him.

Barakus made a sacrifice that day, but not the one he had expected. He gave up his mortality and his soul so that he could ensure the future he saw was guaranteed for every living person, pledging to serve Tharros until oblivion came to claim them both.

The following text has been distributed throughout the multiverse in several languages.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye, In honor of the 1,000,000th tyrannical empire he has epically toppled, the Dark Liberator, The Epic Party Machine, The Greatest Dancer in the Universe and That’s Just a Fact, Zodaxus has elected to throw his greatest party ever at Super-Awesome-Party-Town-Central-Level-Fivemillion. If you have received this invitation, you are invited!

Amenities will include: All liquids ever served in actually-bottomless cups, musical performances by some of the most talented performers in the cosmos, full access to Super-Awesome-Party-Town-Central-Level-Fivemillion’s pool and polydimensional all Euclidian and non-Euclidian waterslides, the Caterpillar of Epic, the palace’s famous self-optimizing roller coaster, the famous Back Room and, of course, the Super-Awesome-Party-Town-Central-Level-Fivemillion’s Super-Awesome-Party-Town-Central-Level-Fivemillion-Dance-Floor-Of-Epicly-Ep ic-Move-Busting.

All invited guests are permitted to bring 1 additional partygoer to the proceedings. Spouses and children too young to be left home unsupervised do not count toward this limit. Such children may be set loose in the Super-Awesome-Party-Town-Central-Level-Fivemillion’s playground where they will be supervised by Azatas. Party will last Five Weeks, Starting Sunday and Ending on Sunday too but the Sunday five Sundays later. Guests need not attend for the whole duration of the party and may come and go as they please.

This Invitation has been given to several million beings across the multiverse, including all still-living slaves ever liberated by Zodaxus, all of his worshipers, numerous good outsiders plus Adriel, Atheos, Cil’dr, Helm, Ishalla, Lathander, Mystra, Osoro, Scrapeknee and Vortae.

Note to GM, I have deliberately given you this as an excuse to have all of the gods gathered together in case that is ideal for the start of your plot, though a few gods will have to sneak in somehow. It just wouldn’t make any sense for him to invite gods he doesn’t trust to follow the rules. Let’s face it, even if they agreed not to, Babaki, Asmodeus or Cyric would still ruin the party for everyone else.

Now we can eat the Humans? the Dire Tiger's thoughts rumble through Ishalla's mind.

"No, my child." is her soft-spoken response, small human hands scratching behind the huge cat's ear.

But we wait, like you say, and the humans cut down the forest to build their homes. "Yes, as I said."

And we wait, like you say, and the human pack is too many, and they kill & eat all the brother-prey.

Ishalla simply nods and continues scratching her fingers through the tiger's short, coarse fur.

And we wait, but the humans give nothing back, and take more from the forest, sending away what they take.

She nods again, frowning slightly.

Why we can't eat the humans now?

In response, the divine being raises a slender arm and points to the settlement in question, nestled among the trees, below their hilly overlook. Approaching the settlement is a lone figure, clad in a plain robe, with a small traveling pack, and a wooden walking stick.

--------------------------------

The large, iron-bound gates were less deterrent and more doorbell for the Forest Warden. She trapped the first rush of guardsmen in the sudden growth of a thick bed of vines, and laid low the next group with her walking stick. She eventually convinced a captain to gather the citizens for a town meeting; after incapacitating two thirds of their militia.

”Life has brought you to a crossroads, brave frontiersmen.” she began once the settlers were gathered. ”Tonight marks the end of your previous journey, and your decision tomorrow shall start you down a new road. I pray the Great Mother gives you the wisdom to put your feet upon the proper path, and whatever your decision, I implore you to take with you what you learn tonight. Those willing to teach are fewer than those willing to listen, and those few are rare enough. Know now, and understand, that the First Mother loves us all. Awaken, Children, to Ishalla’s Love.”

"Ishalla’s Love" is a signature spell I’ll detail a bit more in her profile. It's basic effect is to briefly convey to living beings a sense of the connections between all living things.

At this last, the Warden wraps her staff on the ground, sending reverberations through the crowd. As the waves pass over the people present, they are struck by two opposite, potentially world-shattering perceptions, both brought on by the same fleeting sensation of oneness. Sensing, for a moment, the unity inherent in all living things, the townsfolk are struck simultaneously by the power of the force of Life that they fractionally inhabit, and their own insignificance in light of those same vast connections.

Many of those affected weep silently, a strange mixture of joy & sorrowful longing in their eyes. A few others collapse to the ground, mentally and emotionally overwhelmed, and a select few remain passive, eyes distant in contemplation.

--------------------------------

”Tomorrow, after the Warden leaves, you may eat any Humans that do not leave with her.” Ishalla says to the tiger, mourning already evident in her voice.

Why, Mother?

”Because, my child, the Humans must make their decision. But first they must understand that a Mother’s Love is not easy.”

”Tomorrow, after the Warden leaves, you may eat any Humans that do not leave with her.” Ishalla says to the tiger, mourning already evident in her voice.

Why, Mother?

”Because, my child, the Humans must make their decision. But first they must understand that a Mother’s Love is not easy.”

sounds like tomorrow I may have new worshipers.

@Zodaxus thanks, feel free to get the party started. My plan at this point though is to simply run a RP event with NPCs in the world with each PC God (prolly one or two at a time)to give them something to interact with outside of each other then once everyone has had a story turn with the GM start off the main storyline. While that happens everyone should interact with each other and the world as much as they like as well to really get a fun, complex story going.

Geschwind watched with the other clerics as today's catch of heretics were burned alive, to the cheers and jeers of the faithful. There were four of them this time; an entire family. The father had been one of the most respected theologians at the Grand Seminary, until a proscribed text - not just any proscribed text, but the infamous Codex Indigo - had been discovered in his home, and the conspiracy rumors that he had been lacing his lectures with secret messages to attract "fellow travelers" to a secret cult of heretical magicians, once considered so scandalous and malicious that those who spread them were tortured and imprisoned, had all been proven true.

Geschwind thanked the Lord for sparing him such a fate. He had been like that, once.

Yet it was all so taxing; so many of the people who'd been put to the torch had once been his closest friends, and some of the most interesting people he'd ever known, while some stubborn part of him had grown sick of the monotonous theology of his peers and the vapid banality of most of his flock. That part was just an annoyance now, an old ache kept there to test his faith and keep it honed. Now in sight of the Grand Seminary, he looked at what he'd helped to create; he'd taken the right side when it mattered, right?

It didn't matter now; the choice had been made, and the past was past.

As was his habit, he took a walk through the gardens to meditate and ease his mind. He preferred the parts further afield where most people didn't bother to go, which was why he was surprised to find someone else there this time.

He couldn't tell who it was; they were wearing a heavy cloak, and were standing there contemplating an incongruous shallow pit of bare soil. Geschwind tried being sociable, walking up to them and sharing their contemplation of the little pit.

"Are you the gardener, perhaps? Looks like something new's about to be planted there."

"Perhaps. I'm not sure what to put there. Any ideas?"

"Oh, heavens, I don't know; something pretty. I'm not very creative."

"Aren't you? You used to be."

Geschwind was taken aback by this. This was definitely true. The years had worn away his mind. He'd just assumed it was part of growing up. But how did...this person know?

"I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name - who are you? These gardens aren't open to everyone, you know." He smiled uncomfortably. "I'm a Priest of the Fifth Circle, you know, and I'd be failing at my job rather badly if I didn't enforce basic rules."

"I don't like your rules."

Geschwind's jaw dropped. Had this person REALLY just said that? Right here in the gardens of the Grand Seminary? He'd seen people killed on the spot for lesser shows of disrespect. This was hallowed ground. To be here was a great privilege and some of his peers were quite zealous in enforcing piety. Geschwind had always been of the gentler streak, but something HAD to be done. He shouted a prayer of death upon the defiler.

What happened next was rather traumatic. The shallow earthen pit they'd been staring into suddenly deepened, and Geschwind's damning words seemed to be sucked into it, as though by some creature underneath that fed on incantations. Then, something started growing from it at an unnatural pace. The smell of rotting flesh began emanating from the hole as a large, hideous flower sprang out of it and slammed Geschwind right in the face, knocking him to the ground. Coming back to his senses after a split-second, he looked up at the huge, reeking flower bobbing over him; at the center of its garish red leaves was his own face. Was this really his face? He'd seen it in the mirror this morning, but it struck him now how old and ugly he'd become.

For the first time in their interaction, the cloaked figure moved, peering over the hideous flower and looking down at Geschwind. Even though he was now looking right into the person's hood, and it was clearest daylight, he couldn't see their face - just unending blackness.

"I don't think you like your rules, either."

Geschwind was horrorstruck; he couldn't fight the old, stubborn voice now screaming inside him; this was true, too. He stood up slowly, the hideous flower receding into the ground as he did so.

"This is a pleasant enough garden; walk with me a while."

Numb with horror and confusion, Geschwind did.

Even though Geshwind had walked these gardens more times than he could count, he had never seen the places he was being led; in fact, he knew that, given the layout and size of the place, these avenues, increasingly wild in their flora and unfamiliar in their architecture, could not possibly be here. Still, they walked. It felt like a dream to Geschwind, his senses increasingly distorted, yet increasingly clear, his steps becoming increasingly light, the daylight around them rapidly darkening to dusk. Geschwind slowly realized that it hadn't been his senses distorting so much as it had indeed been the world around them, as they finally came to a dark stone staircase and descended it.

When they finally reached the bottom, Geschwind was struck with an overwhelming shock of memory. He was in a small, candlelit room filled with books.

"I remember this. This was my old cell when I was young. All these books should have been burned. How could they...."

It was then that Geschwind realized that he was alone. Not only that, but there was something dissonant in his voice as he spoke. He went over to his old mirror, just where it had been decades ago. Everything was as it had been decades ago - even Geschwind.

He was young again.

He realized which night this was, now. The layout of his books, the lingering smells from his empty dinner plate - this was the night he'd made his choice not to go through with his plan. He'd made that choice because he feared the destruction and uncertainty that would come of going forward with it.

He'd seen what had become of his making what had looked like the safe, sane, and humane choice.

This time he'd make the other one.

He grabbed a few of his books, and using one of the simpler tricks he'd learned from them, made himself invisible, and made his way to the old cathedral where the meeting that would come to be known as the Synod of Founding Faith was being held.

As he'd planned all those years ago - no, just a week or two ago - he hid under the altar as the church leaders and hundreds of loyal followers excitedly discussed their plans to return a world in chaos to its traditional order. Geschwind worked his spell.

The cathedral exploded in a storm of eldritch black wind, and all inside, save Geschwind, were reduced to dust.

He looked up at the night sky. It was difficult to see - but there was hope in it.

The following applies to basically anyone attending the party.

When you activate the golden scroll you received, a gate opens in front of you. As soon as you turn to face it, you get a sense of the splendor of Zodaxus’ realm. You see the vast and crowded courtyard on the other side of the gate, soft grass covering the expanse. Your eyes widen a bit when you see Zodaxus’ palace, unless you have seen it or a similar structure before. It covers your entire field of view, but for that occupied by the ground below, and as you step through the gate and it closes behind you, that fact does not change. The palace stretches from horizon to horizon, and is so tall you cannot see any hint of its top.

Looking to your left, you see a glowing path of electronic plates, each flashing between various different colors in rhythm. Lining either side of the path are great glass spheres inside of which floating fountain-like objects spurt forth dazzling displays of colored fluid. You hear the faint echo of music from inside the palace.

As you walk to and down the path toward the door, the music glows louder. The sweet smell of the air around you changes, from that of subtle honeysuckle to a thick smell of baking cake and soda drinks. The music you hear grows louder as you walk forward, reaching its peak in volume as you near the door, and then blasting against your ears as you open it. Despite its volume, the music you hear adjusts itself to your tastes and desires.

The door opens straight into the dance floor, the majority of which is covered by a glowing glass mat whose colors shift and morph much as the walkway did. Stepping into the room seems to cause the music to quiet itself to whatever volume you prefer. The room you are now in is ringed on all sides by the Juice Bar, from which an Awesome Partier, one of the outsiders under Zodaxus’ service, is passing out plastic party cups. These cups contain your favorite drink, and no amount of consumption from them will ever drain them dry.

There are various doors in the walls around you, each with a control panel in front of it. Due to the immensity of the palace, practicality demands it be traveled through by magical means, and so it is. Each panel rests below a screen displaying a list of all the rooms in the palace. Every room is accessible, but those you are expected to prefer appear at the very top.

At the party
Scrapeknee comes in his currently more favored form of handsome god with asymmetrical horns all around his head. He wears a nobleman's clothes of the sort fashionable in the dry arid lands of genies and flying carpets.

On Scrapeknee's arm is a lovely female woman, a djinn or genie, complete with exotic clothes of her own and a gemstone in her belly button.

"You see? I told you he had an eye for flash," He tells his escort with a smile.

Before the party...

Adriel accompanied by three lantern archons and a few cassisian angels appeared amongst the stacks. The archons and angels apparently not liking the fact of so many books, tomes, and scrolls crowding things quickly began to organize the records so there was more room. But the celestials weren't just organizing, they were also cleaning shelves, scaring away pests, dusting off books, blowing away cobwebs. One of the lantern archons stopped for a second to scold a newly appointed librarian who was just about sweep dust and dirt under a rug. Adriel smiled as he watched the librarians apparently at a loss of what to do. Some were appalled at what the celestials were doing while others were pleased to have some extra help. The Angelic Paladin figured he should bring more celestials when he visited the god of skepticism...

Zodaxus smiles as he sees Scrapeknee enter the palace. He finishes his current dance maneuver, an epic triple-polydimensional-pseudodirectional backflip of sick move-busting, and zips straight through the air to the chaos god. "Yo, Bro, whatsup?" he asks, extending his fist for a fistbump.

Oh, right, might as well follow the other line of action as well...

As promised, Atheos's plus one to Zodaxus's party is Nothing: a sphere of annihilation that follows him around, into which he occasionally pours beverages.

I arrive with one of my shadows in tow. To any trying to observe me, I simply appear to be their own shadow projected from their point of view or possible as a featureless silhouette. Everyone can "feel" his expressions and his location, however their eyes give them no such data.

"okay, so, come back here everyday at noon so I can check up on you, if anything goes wrong you can contact me anytime as per usual, I've put some money in your bag in-case you want to buy anything or trade." taking one last look at everything I've equipped the shadow with, "Okay, have fun hun, stay here as long as you like"

The shadow, which appears to be made of pure darkness, except what it is wearing (which are what appear to be winter clothes a small backpack and a fannypack), immediately runs off and jumps in the pool still wearing everything.

"No! No! you'll get everything wet" I yell as I walk off after him.

Shar, the Lady of Loss, appears with her Demigod Mask, a Lord of Shadows, in tow.

Shar is lanky in build, and divinely beautiful with alabaster skin and pitch black hair.

"Zodaxus, I deeply appreciate the invitation, despite your distaste for those of a dark heart, you are kind." She says to the host God.

Mask hides at her side and keeps quiet, unwilling to do anything that might upset the host God and thus upset his Lady.

Zodaxus smiles as he sees Scrapeknee enter the palace. He finishes his current dance maneuver, an epic triple-polydimensional-pseudodirectional backflip of sick move-busting, and zips straight through the air to the chaos god. "Yo, Bro, whatsup?" he asks, extending his fist for a fistbump.

Scrapeknee having seen the custom on odd and wondrous worlds gives a fist bump "Loving the place, thanks for the invite? up to? Me? Taking it easy lately... got some young nobles chasing after a winged horse, that sort of thing. Hilarious. Oh," He gestures to his genie date, "This is Shazid from those very lands."

"Scrapeknee freed me from a very cramped lamp," Shazid smiled at him, and then inclined her head to Zodraxus, "I hear you are the god of freedom, great one. I would appear to be in debt to two gods then. Charmed."

Scrapeknee chuckles, "Z is the one who rescues everyone. I tend towards saving the pretty ones," He grins, "Sides, that merchant broke down and cried when he realized there was an actual genie in the lamp he thought was worthless and now no one would be able to get any wishes...he started pulling his hair out."

Then Shar slides over to introduce herself to the host as well Ooo Mask is here. Better watch the silverware

"Shar, you're looking as lovely as ever, and Mask, how are you doing? Sorry about that guild war in Crow Town; no idea your boys and my boys were after the same mystic sapphire."

"Scrapeknee, horny as ever I see." Says Shar in amusement as she touches one delicate finger to one of Scrapeknee's asymmetrical horns.

"No hard feelings." Says Mask, his voice a whisper behind his....mask. "Not everyone can win every contest, but I try to lose with grace."

"Scrapeknee, horny as ever I see." Says Shar in amusement as she touches one delicate finger to one of Scrapeknee's asymmetrical horns.

"Truth in advertising lately," Scrapeknee chuckles. He doesn't trust Shar, and doesn't much like her. Her seductions are lost on him compared to more vibrant goddesses. The goddess ties to loss, of hiding from life just doesn't appeal to him. Still, he humors her. He's not exactly looking to make enemies either.

"No hard feelings." Says Mask, his voice a whisper behind his....mask. "Not everyone can win every contest, but I try to lose with grace."

"Well, it was messy, but I think both sides can hold their heads high in that one," Masks interests Scrapeknee but for another reason, many rogues venerate Scrapeknee as a god of luck, and while Mask may have more thieves, Scrapeknee likes to tell himself he has more fun loving rogues. Their battles on roof tops and attempts to steal more than each other can be interesting to say the least, "On the other hand, I hear a certain two handed sword was stolen from the royal vault of Karemeikos. Was that one of yours? Because it sure wasn't one of mine, much as I wish it was. " And what would you and yours be doing with a sword meant to slay dragons, I wonder?

Ignore the Mystara world country name if you want. Just pulling one out of my ### :)

Children of Scrapeknee: The Centaurs

Scout Tevon Windracer snorted at the foolish humans in the distance. The tribal markers were clear, these lands were owned and claimed by the Golden Flanks. Trade was allowed along certain paths, but humans were also expected to pay the toll for their use. Of course, some humans would try to get around this and expected the Golden Flanks to be none the wiser.

Idiots.

Tevon scratched at the grass beneath him as he counted the caravan's numbers. Ten guards, with medium armor at best, but equipped with spears and pole arms; clearly the sort meant to deal with cavalry. He smirked at that. As if they'd never faced those before. That's why they had short bows. There were five other men, most likely merchants. To his surprise, he also counted two women. His eyes appraised the horses. Most of them were mares.

This could change things. It was time to report to Priestess Softgrass. Living up to his earn name, Windracer made it to the camp where others waited. They knew his report was no ordinary one when he went straight to Softgrass.

With gray in her hair and hide, Softgrass was showing her years yet she was still was still fit enough to fight along side the warriors. At one time, she could move along the grass with surprising quiet, not so much now, but she liked the name and none dared take it from her. The power of her faith was strong, "You come to me, and not the Arban?"

"I mean him no disrespect," Windracer answered as the raid leader was mentioned, "But it is your voice that must make a choice in this. I saw two human women, and mares enough for them."

Softgrass nodded, "Then you were right to do so, this is a matter for the priesthood. And yes, I am strong enough to do the ritual."

"Do you wish to?" He pressed, "The Caravan moves steadily."

The Centauress considered, "What banner did they bear?"

"The banner of the Kingdom of Oenotria," He answered.

"Mmmph, they often treat their women as property anyway," She said, "I feel no guilt. Even if I suspect you are hoping you will be able to woo one before they join the great herd." She chuckled as he blushed, then continued, "I will inform the Arban. He will know how to change his tatics accordingly. You too should inform him."

"Of course," Tevan assured her and broke into a grin. Even if she had not decided to perform the rite, he would have looked forward to a bit of action. Now, they'd have to be a bit more careful, but it would still be fun.

It was just an hour later. The raid came quickly, and took the caravan by surprise! It was amazing to Windchaser that humans seemed to think they had a monopoly on magic, both divine and arcane. They did not expect a silence spell to quiet the sound of hoofbeats. Had they, they'd not have fallen for the sight of one Centaur in the open on their right which was meant to distract them from the sudden rush on their left.
The battle was quick, arrows sinking into the guardsmen who found themselves, too late, throwing aside their polearms and reaching for crossbows.

The silence had dropped, and the screams of dying guardsmen filled the open sky but briefly. All of the guards, and two of the three merchants had died, and then finally one cried out the word they'd come to expect:
"Mercy!"A now bloodied human merchant cried out.

The Arban, Kegish Strongspear, made a motion for the others to hold, and then asked, "Why? Why should we spare tresspassers who ignored the markers we set? Who would steal from us our toll? And think us fools?"

"That was wrong of us," The human merchant whined, "I shouldn't have listened to him," He gestured to a conviently dead fellow merchant. Convenient because the dead could not argue if accused of the greater fault, "But we'll pay you now. Three times your normal toll price."

The centuars broke out in laughter at that, "You offer what is no longer yours. Do you truly believe can not just take your goods even more easily than we take your lives? No, ten times Ten times the toll we could take if we felt generous."
The Merchant had nothing to say to that.

The arban's eyes fell on a scared woman, near twenty five winters, and the slightly younger one nearby, "You bring women with you. Unusual for your nation. Why?"

The merchant's eyes lit up, perhaps they would spare them for the women's sake, "This poor terrified woman," He gestured to the older one, "is my beloved wife Abelie. Her sister, Giada, has a groom waiting for her. Please, for their sake, spare us."

That was when Softgrass came forward, a spell of truth issuing forward, "And this marriage, was it of your choosing, Giada? Was yours, Abelie?"

The human women, compelled by divine magic, babbled together in snippets that were a bit garbled, but quite true.

"No, it was arranged. My parents recieve a bride price, my brother in law hopes for a hefty finder's fee. I don't even know him."

"This will be the last time I ever see my sister. I came with her trying to assure her all will be well, though I'm not very happy in my own marriage. My husband is greedy."

The merchant blinked as the women said less than flattering things but before he could protest, Strongspear spoke up, "The women will live. You and the others will live as well, if you yield the women up to the golden flanks tribe."

The two women paled. There were dark rumors that centaur men did horrible horrible things to human women, but it was never so simple.

The merchant began to sweat, "I have more money at home..."

"We are not at your home," The Arban snorted, "Agree or don't. Do you die for your women, and we set them on the path home, or do we take your women and you may limp home yourselves?"

The man struggled, but if he had any love for his own wife, it failed him, "...take them."

The women screamed as the centaurs rushed forward. Windchaser snagged the younger quieter one, only to have her give him a good pop to the jaw. He was impressed, there was more energy in her than he would have expected, "Be still, two legger. I will not hurt you. Do not listen to the stories so easily. There is more than you think." She tried to punch him again, so he held her fast.

Of course, mares were seized as well, leaving the surviving humans with only one horse each to ride. And all of the wealth was soon slapped onto backs leaving them destitue. But they would live.

The warning was given to the human merchants, as each man's face was given a light slash to mark them as criminals who had been punished, "Ride back to the path, do not deviate from it, or we will kill you. From there you may go onward to your destination, or return home."

The whimpering merchants would later complain of the barbarism of the centaurs, would down play their cowardice and crime if asked by fellow humans, but for now? They meekly complied.

Abelie and her sister, Giada were pale with fear when they were dumped into the odd grass an hour later. Abelie hadn't fought, but Giada had struggled every inch of the way. Neither was hurt , just terrified. So they were confused to be placed within an odd spiral pattern on the top of a grassy plateau along with the two best mares from the caravan.

The male centaurs backed off, but Softgrass remained, "You fear our men would take you against your will. That will not happen. Scrapehoof does not approve."

"Scrapehoof?" Abelie asked.

"Our god, the first centaur," Softgrass said, "You humans know him as Scrapeknee, but... he comes to us as Scrapehoof. Whatever he is to you, he is centaur to us. He is not the only god we follow, but we would not be if not for him. Regardless, Scrapeknee would frown on an attempt at rapine? And I? I would geld them as I approve of it even less."

"What do you want with us then?" Giada found her voice.

"Mmm, I am about to cast a spell, a ritual, one that you will come to love I think," She began to chant, "Oh Scrapehoof, mighty manstallion of the winding wind! I call on your power to echo your miracle of old!"

The two women felt light, ethereal... like mist rather than flesh. Nearby, each mare also grew so. The spiral pattern in the grass lit up, and a vortex rose slowly carrying the two human women and the two mares up in a rotating pattern of levitation. Faster and faster they spun, as Softgrass chanted. Until there was a blur, and mare and woman merged and blended. The light brightened and then blinded.

And there, before the priestess, now stood two beautiful and healthy young female centaurs. They had vague memories of being ungainly two legged creatures, so slow, so unable to run properly. They were nude, not bound by ideas of modesty as before, though they'd probably be happy to adorn themselves as many women of the Golden Flanks tribe did.

"I feel..." Giada admitted as she shook her long hair free in the wind and snapped her tail, "Wonderful. I... I am no beast, yet I feel more powerful, more primal."

"I too," Abelie put a hand over her own heart to feel its stronger beat.

"Scrapehoof gave us what was best in both," Softgrass nodded and smiled, "Humans think we are beast men, animal women, but it is not so simple. You feared the males would take you against your will. They hope to win you, yes, and they might, but first you must be inducted into the women's council. That will take a moon at least, so you can pick new names and grow to know who you are. Then, you may set them on tasks."

"Tasks?" both of the new centaur females looked surprised.

"Of course," Softgrass chuckled, "If a cenataur wishes your favors, they must earn it. Women arrange their own marriages, or even simple frolics, on their own terms here. Oh, the men complain about it, but as most prefer more than one female, few of us have symapthy for them." Softgrass chuckled, "I think Windchaser, the one who held you, liked your fire, Giada."

Giada would never have thought of a centaur this way, but now that she was one, she came to realize she was no more attracted to men than she was to horses. A centaur like Tevan though? The thought appealed, "And I can send him out on things to please me?"

"Don't be too cruel or I shall tell him there are still kinder prospects," Softgrass warned, causing the new younger centauress to blush, "But yes." Then she winked, "Have a little fun with him though. You don't want him thinking you're too easy."

Giada laughed at that, then looked to her sister, "Abelie? Are you... feeling as good about this as I am?"

"I am," Her sister sounded surprised, "If a price must be set for me, then I prefer to be the one who does the setting. I try to think on if I shall ever miss he who was my husband, but I don't think I will. I will likely forget his name within the month."

"Likely," Softgrass said, "Now, stay near me and we will rejoin the men on our way back to the great camp where you two can truly come to know your new lives."

The two younger newer she-centaurs nodded and followed her lead. In time, they'd pick their mates, begat a child or two, and find positions in the tribe themselves. Some changes were abrupt, true, but most? Most would take just that... time.

"Oh goddess, I am frightened to death!"

"Just stick to the plan and you'll live. Activate the gate."

The frail man handled the golden scroll, his hands shaking from excitement and fear. A gate appeared in front of the mortal and the goddess, revealing a splendid courtyard on the other side. The two stepped in.

"Excellent," Michazra said confidently while her partner was shaking with amazement. She had heard of Zodaxus's party and had seen the possibilities that came along with it. Unfortunately The Dark Liberator had not invited her, and she definitely was not well-welcomed in an upper plane like Zodaxus's, but details like that were no problem for the Lying Mistress.

Michazra's unholy presence was quickly discovered by some of Zodaxus's staff members. "Excuse me, madam," one of them said while approaching the goddess, "but this party is - HNNG!"

She was wearing a pitch-black dress that was decorated by skull-shaped lace frills. The goddess was quite stunning, literally: her dress was strong with necromantic magic, making her impossible to be looked at by mortals of weak will.

The staff member looked away and continued: "This party is by invite-only. And no Evil beings allowed. I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

"Oh no, I am here by invite. Take a look," Michazra said calmly while handing the golden invitation letter. "But I can understand your confusion. Even I was surprised when I received this letter. The Dark Liberator and I have had some disagreements in the past, but I'm glad he's willing to make up for it."

The goddess's words were smooth, calm and natural; she was a flawless liar. The letter she handed out was forged, and originally addressed to someone else. Had it not been for the man now hiding behind her, who had stolen the letter from a freed slave, she would have had much harder time forging the letter.

The staff member inspected the letter and looked puzzled. "Apologies, madam, but there must have been some mistake."

"Mistake?" the goddess raised her voice, making it cold as winter and dusty as a sealed grave. "I knew it! If this has been one of that bird-brain's jokes I swear to Myself I will..."

"Madam, please remain calm!" the staff member panicked. "It's just that Lord Zodaxus has told us the only Evil deity to attend would be Lord of the Meek, Cil'dr. He made no mention of, erm..."

"Michazra, goddess of gold."

"Goddess of gold?"

"Among other things."

"And the person with you?"

"This is Joha Ginwerth, a worshiper of mine." This wasn't technically a lie: Joha did worship the God Thief. Michazra saw fitting to leave out the fact that he was a also thief.

The staff member sighed. "I'll let Lord Zodaxus know that Michazra, 'goddess of gold among other things', has entered with a seemingly-authentic letter. Enjoy the party, madam. But no Evil acts are tolerated. That includes Mister Ginwerth."

The Dead Creed and her +1 thanked the staff member, took back the letter and began heading towards the palace. "You have done well. Come, let's go greet our host and thank Him of this party." The goddess let out a laugh that took 10 years off her mortal partner's life span.

Zodaxus bows his head at Shar. “Thank you,” he says.

Suddenly, though, his eyes widen. “Hold on, something just came up,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He teleports in front of Michizra, leaving Shar and Scrapeknee to their conversation.

He looks at the human whose voice Michizra damaged, and reverses the ill-effects. He looks the goddess of undeath in the eye. “You’re going to have to keep that turned off if you wanna be here. I won’t have any harm inflicted on my guests.” He smiles a bit, lowering himself so that he hovers closer to the ground. “Glad to see you made it, though! We got your invitation out so late after that mix-up I was afraid you wouldn’t get it in time. I see it worked out, though.”

Michazra is slightly surprised by the host's sudden appearance. "Keep what turned off? You aren't possibly referring to my charming laugh, are you?" She chuckles a bit. "I'm joking, I'll stay put near the mortals."

He sent an invitation for me? she ponders. What is he talking about? Is he actually trying to lie to me? He's either terrifyingly brave and wise, or horribly stupid. Well if that's how he wants to play it, fine by me.

"And I am glad you invited me at all, despite all our... differences. Let me introduce you to my partner: Joha Ginwerth, a common worshiper of mine. Joining a party of gods has been his life-long dream, you see." The meek mortal bows deeply, clearly impressed by being in the company of two Gods.

"I hear you have gone all out on the comforts and activities here. If even half of them are true, you sure know how to arrange a party! Joha will definitely enjoy the theatre and arcade. I, on the other hand, am a more social personality... have you met any of the other deities here?"

Zodaxus nods. "I was just speaking with the DK and Moonster. I can sense Bookman here as well, though I've not spoken to him."

Zodaxus rises, hovering back at his typical height. "Speaking of which, I intend to rejoin them. You may follow me or not. In any case, I am glad you came. I presume this means the other late invites got their invitations as well."

Zodaxus teleports back in front of Scrapeknee. "Sorry about that," he said. "Hosting duties. In any case, you up for a game in the arcade? One of my earlier projects went on to become a famous designer of the things. I've been looking for an opportunity to play it with you in fact, and what better time than in front of him?"

You may or may not recognize those nicknames as referring to Shar, Scrapeknee and Atheos, but if you've ever had extended interaction with Zo, you know about his nick-naming habit and recognize that they refer to someone.

Adriel figured Atheos wouldn't go ahead and aid in the downfall of a tyrant. Still he was a shrewd angel of course.

So even though this tyrant has begun to persecute your followers and those of others who oppose him, you will stay by and do nothing?

He decided to wait and let that sink into the skeptics' god's head.

Are you aware of a group called the Temple of Elemental Evil?

Party:

Atheos idly wanders the party, trying to see if Vortae has arrived yet. He grabs some meat on a skewer and begins feeding it to his Sphere as he walks, skewer alongside meat.

I teleport immediately in front of Zodaxus. "hey, so Myzzy over there". I point at the shadow I brought along "wants to know if he can keep one of your infinite cups of liquid?". Upon receiving an answer, I immediately teleport back.

I teleport immediately in front of Zodaxus. "hey, so Myzzy over there". I point at the shadow I brought along "wants to know if he can keep one of your infinite cups of liquid?". Upon receiving an answer, I immediately teleport back.

Zodaxus looks at Cil’dr. “I dunno,” he says. He tilts his head. “How about I make a modified version that’ll limit what kinds of liquids it can contain, just to make sure no one uses it to flood a planet with Liquid Nitrogen or something? Wait, no. It’d be weighted so there was a limit to how far you could tilt it, just to make sure no one ever does anything but drink from it. Would he be okay with that?”

after teleporting away for a bit... "he apparently wanted it so he could fill a tub full of honey... I think I brought a weird one." A sudden realization seems to overtake me "wait... these can make liquid nitrogen?". you can see I'm thinking about something.

after teleporting away for a bit... "he apparently wanted it so he could fill a tub full of honey... I think I brought a weird one." A sudden realization seems to overtake me "wait... these can make liquid nitrogen?". you can see I'm thinking about something.

"If I give you one..." I say. "They can make any liquid one desires. However, it sounds like it might be better for me to simply give your friend a tub of honey."

Traveling with all my spouses and children is just not a practical matter. If I had waited for all my pride to get ready, the party, even at five weeks, would be long over. Osoro mused to himself. It had taken some convincing for Osoro to even come to this. Zodaxus was often best served in small doses, Osoro found.

His retinue was much smaller than a more formal gathering. Only four wives and a single child. His sixth wife, mother of his Herald, the Protector's Roar. She is great golden wyrm, of the name Cerevii, whose scales shimmered just as prettily as Zodaxus' disco balls. Siaya, a once mortal half-elf who had served him as an Inquisitor in her mortal years, chasing down deadbeat and abusive parents, and now his 86th wife. Atuclu, wife #29, a proud queen of harpies, with feathers as brilliant and colorful as a hummingbird. Finally, Misim, a mere leonal, and the most recent of his wives to give birth. The boy was too young to be separated from his mother, but Osoro wanted his wife to have a good time.

Siaya and Atuclu took to circulating the party. Both tended towards chaotic (at least in life), and thus a good fit for Zodaxus's overly loquaciously named realm. Misim took his son to play with the other small children. That left Osoro alone with his dragon wife, Cerevii.

"Scrapeknee, Mask, keeping out of trouble, I presume," Osoro said with a nod. He was hoping to catch the waiter with the cocktail weenies that had just passed.

Zodaxus teleports back in front of Scrapeknee. "Sorry about that," he said. "Hosting duties. In any case, you up for a game in the arcade? One of my earlier projects went on to become a famous designer of the things. I've been looking for an opportunity to play it with you in fact, and what better time than in front of him?"

"Sure, though I think you're going to find yourself pulled a way as host a great deal," He smiles.

When Cil'Dr starts talking bottomless cups, Scrapeknee thinks Case in point. Zodaxus certainly will be the popular one for this I'm thinking. Good on him. He's a fun guy. Hey, is that Atheos?

Atheos idly wanders the party, trying to see if Vortae has arrived yet. He grabs some meat on a skewer and begins feeding it to his Sphere as he walks, skewer alongside meat.

Scrapeknee waves, "Hi, Atheos. Great party eh?" He realizes he'll probably be ignored, but every once in a while you've got to test out the presumed.

"Scrapeknee, Mask, keeping out of trouble, I presume," Osoro said with a nod. He was hoping to catch the waiter with the cocktail weenies that had just passed.

"Osoro! I hope you and your many lovely wives are doing well? As for me, well, some would say I am the trouble. But they have no sense of humor. I'm getting by... I think I've lost one of my centaur tribes to your worship, but I've got plenty of others and I trust you won't let them get too bored so no worries."

Stepping through the portal, Ishalla's bare feet settle on a small patch of grass that was not there moments ago. She pauses, taking in the the abundance of immediate sensations, frowning slightly at the massive palace. I must say.. that's certainly not the best choice of objects to center your realm around... She puts the thought out of her head. I must remember I'm a guest here.

As Ishalla moves towards the structure, each step is met by some small, low-growing patch of green: grass, moss, ferns, lichens. Her feet never actually touch the ground. Unless Zodaxus wills it otherwise, of ourse.

As she approaches the others, Ishalla is surrounded by a number of the realm's mortal inhabitants, as her own "dress" inspires the near inverse of Michazra's and draws anyone to her that doesn't have the will to resist. Showing an alluring amount of skin, Ishalla is wearing a single, impossibly long boa constrictor, which shifts and slides over her body continuously. In its never ending writhing, Ishalla's snake-garment reveals different portions of her body every second, always maintaining the very bare minimum of modesty.

The (Zodaxians?) trail her, professing their love & begging for her touch. Although it's more of an effect from her lack of clothing, she inspires animalistic lust in any unprotected lesser creature that's subject to such urges, regardless of gender or species. A scowl briefly crosses her face as she recognizes some of Osoro's wives, and it's clear to anyone with eyes that she's not happy they're there. After a moment she turns her attention to the host.

"Hey! Zodaxus!" She calls out as she gets closer.
"Thank you for the invitation. I brought you something." She reaches out a hand, holding a single seed in her fingers, which she drops to the ground.

A miniature tropical jungle sprouts from the seed as it hits the ground, complete with the full range of mini plant and animal life. As they spring into existence, all of the organisms in the small jungle begin dancing. From the tallest trees to the almost-invisible frogs, everything moves in a complicated, impossibly coordinated dance, which still manages to demonstrate the complex nature of the jungle.

As the dance reaches a crescendo (a large part of which is the naturally violent struggle between predator & prey), the scene collapses back on itself, leaving no trace except for a single word whispered on the wind: "Awesome..."

Smiling, although her eyes don't display the same frivolity, Ishalla reaches out an arm, and the constrictor slithers its head down past her hand. The snake opens its mouth and out slides a small bag, obviously full of more seeds.

The seeds aren't anything more than they seem. The snake is her +1. It's a powerful sentient being from her own realm, and acts as advisor, guardian, fanny pack, & party attire.

"Yes, the entertainment is beyond that any mortal could procure," Atheos replies to Scrapeknee, his voice coming from a point halfway between them. "And surely, nothing is more important to a 'God' than spending large amounts of time engaging in any sort of human activities that our lack of bodies, nervous systems, or biologically-grounded emotional centers have no way of actually benefitting from."

And then, as an afterthought, he adds, "...but really, even you, of all people, haven't asked me about my guest?" And his eyes move away, to briefly glance at the Sphere.

Vortae stood in the foyer, rather confused and overwhelmed. Even surrounded by countless people, It managed to be alone.

Why did I come here, again? It wondered to Itself. I'm hardly any good at these things.

Then It noticed that someone or something had reorganized the contents of part of the buffet table into a kind of primitive mechanical dragon that projectile-vomited shrimp cocktails.

As ever, the infallible answer: Why not?

Vortae wandered the palace, not really caring where It was going, and winding Its way through the art gallery, the aquarium, the arcade, the carpenter's walk, and the Grand Banana Room before finding Itself back in the foyer, and finding itself in some very old and familiar company...that of Nothing.

Vortae appeared abruptly behind Atheos, a fresh shrimp cocktail in Its hand. "I'll play your game: Tell Me about your guest. Of course, it pales in comparison to My guest...."

Vortae had come alone.

"True." Atheos responds to Vortae. "I said I would bring Nothing, and I did. But mine is a crude portrait of the real thing, and a mere play on words—a Sphere of Annihilation is a small Nothing, self-contained, and limited to what it can touch."

"So, why did I bring Nothing? To make a point, as always. The sphere at my side possesses power that far exceeds its own intelligence or reckoning. Without being given instruction beyond its limited self-guidance, from someone who both possesses and uses their own senses, it is merely a destructive force, blindly devouring and undoing all the complicated works it touches. In this, it's just like half the other guests at this party..."

"...Plus, it's not as though any of us extraplanar powers possess the capacity for intoxication beyond what our own minds could instantaneously achieve. So I might as well pour every drink I'm served into a black hole."

"You make it all sound so bleak," Vortae says absentmindedly as It extends a hand like that of an ancient statue of some alien stone into the heart of Atheos' good friend Nothing. It twists Its arm about, as though working hard at something inside.

Suddenly, a MASSIVE explosion, brighter than a thousand suns and more colorful than Zodaxus' most recent acid trip, envelopes the foyer. Suddenly, the explosion recedes in on itself until finally spiraling harmlessly into Vortae's hood, revealing that Atheos's guest is no longer there, and in its place are no fewer than 5 things that were not there before: A 3-toed sloth with 8 limbs and powdered semiprecious stones for fur, a starfish the size of a horse wearing a strange circular saddle, an elaborate lava lamp shaped like a Ouija table that runs on a tiny fusion core somewhere deep within, a small stack of famous history books from various worlds reshaped into readable sphere form, and a sapient bowl of salad wearing a monocle and smoking jacket.

As the crowd erupts into deafening applause, Vortae turns to Atheos and consumes Its shrimp cocktail idly. "I think you still have much to learn, Godling."

Atheos shrugs, and begins using his finger to take notes on his hand. "And your guest—the giant sea star—is 'better' than my Nothing, because?..."

"I didn't bring a guest. That had been the joke. As to now? Yes, precisely. The giant sea star is better than Nothing, because."