"I wouldn't know what you've done," Azrael said simply, his voice flat. "They've gone nowhere yet, of course, but only for my lack of trying. They could go, well, wherever I told them to I suppose. Still, if you have ideas..." Azrael trails off as he watches Tissari work at a mind numbing speed, even for a god, and falls silent for quite a while.
"It seems you've put some thought into this, haven't you?"
"Sort of! Well, I am now, putting a lot of thought into it that is, but it's just been kind of lingering in the back of my mind for most of existence. I mean, in my opinion, it sort of just invalidates mortal life itself if death is the big stick or the carrot, eh? People will act good to get into whatever we're going to end up calling the good place, not because it's just good you know? In a way, in a sick, horrible, twisted way, the true scum of existence would be the most courageous 'cause they do all of those terrible things despite knowing they're going to the bad place. Plus, if things are good all the time, good people will eventually get horribly bored!" With a twist of her hand and a snap of her fingers, Tissari transfer some of the data she's working on to a dimensional simulation, hanging in the air. "But on the other hand, if we just let life... end here, it's kinda depressing, really. And everybody should get a chance for redemption, even if they're dead. Sooo... this is my plan! Drawing up the whole thing, sinking power into it, making sure it can maintain itself, and perfecting it will take time, buuut..."
Her blueprints apparently finished, Tissari shows the two gods present her idea. "....here it is!" The first thing that the deities notice that rather than being multiple plans, Tissari's afterlife has it all woven into one. The second is how... varied it all is. What you can only assume is the "bad" place has floating moons of fire as well as a similar mirror on the surface, vast caves and ruined structures from civilizations past and futures, frigid wastelands, imposing castles, fetid bogs, and cities of endless, pounding crude steel machinery.
The second part appears to be a vast, dusty wasteland, with small settlements and oases, roving bands of bandits and monsters, and caravans of survivors.
The final part is a huge utopia, as varied as the "bad" place that drew the eye first. Vast, sweeping plains, rugged alpine mountains, beautiful oceans and verdant green forests. Gilded cities and idyllic villages dot the landscape, and wonderful physical impossibilities abound.
"Everybody gets a chance at Arthara," Tissari explains. "That's the nice, shiny bit over there. And I mean everybody. Jathak, that kinda imposing bit over there, is specifically designed to punish evildoers - they deserve some punishment for their crimes, after all - but it's also specifically designed to foster empathy, teamwork, and rekindle the little bit of good left in their hearts. Once they realize the error of their ways, they move on to the next area, the Wastes. This is where they commit grand acts of heroism, truly do good for the first time in their, well, existences I suppose. And once they fully become heroes, true forces for good, they move on to Arthara. It's a lot like life over there, really. They still make choices, they still advance, they still can love and have children." Tissari's eyes are shining at the idea of it all. "The people who are somewhere in between, not quite good, not quite evil, start at in the Wastes."
"And the best part is that it's all their own choice! Evildoers are put into groups, of around three to six, in Jathak, and are explicitly told that they need to work together to get out. But it doesn't actually work until empathy for others reawakens in their hearts! And the conditions of the people in the Wastes plays to the empathy that they've gained, and forces them to act to make things better. Of course, the people there are really manifestations of the plane itself, controlled by another little project I have cooking up, but it'll be enough to get them in Arthara."
She turns to Therien, smiling. "And this is the part I know you'll like. Your job, if you want it, is to reign over Jathak and the Wastes. Just Jathak and the Wastes, don't get any smart ideas about going for Arthara. Your job is to, essentially, make the evildoers' lives miserable! Oh, I know it sounds callous, but under adverse conditions they will eventually bond and redeem themselves. Few rules: you can't capture anybody and not give them some kind of way to get out with the help of the rest of the group. You can go whole-hog on it - huge fortresses, imposing guardians, deadly traps (note: death just resets wipes the dead-ee's memories of their run but leaves feelings and instincts and puts them with another group) - whatever you want, as long as it's possible for them to be rescued."
Azrael looks at Tissari's huge map of blueprints and ideas for what to do with the souls of the dead, the god of death utterly silent and motionless as he does so. He finally moves again, and faces Tissari; if a mask could scowl in disappointment, Azrael's certainly did. "No," he states simply, shaking his head. "No, that won't do at all." He repeats. Azrael huffs for a moment before he turns away from Tissari's display and waves a frail hand to construct his own. As opposed to her vast field of luminescent orange, Azrael's own thoughts appear articulately written on a flat, silver field. "I appreciate the work you all have done to craft these mortals, I do. I'm sure it was quite an effort and you put a lot of thought into the whole ordeal, but I need you to understand something; I came into being when the first of your creations died, and once they've sloughed off their mortal coils you don't get to decide what happens to them anymore." The death god's voice takes on a sudden venom as he speaks, pacing as he throws his hands into the air. "I am the Lord of The Shallows, The Pale Reckoner of Death... I will not be reduced to a glorified gatekeeper!" Azrael's fists clench, and the mists that hang ever present about him begin to toss and roil. A fierce wind swirls about and sends his cloak billowing about him, the light dimmed by the growing storm with him at its epicenter. The sudden rain falls upon them, his mask streaked with water droplets. "I will not!" He stabs a finger toward Tissari, full of righteous fury. His breath and ragged and sharp, his fury storming about the two of them.
Then, as quick as the storm comes, it stops. The water still lies in puddles about them, but the clouds have settled back into mists and Azrael stands still, wrapped in his cloak. "My apologies," he says, his demeanor cordial once more. His breathes are even and calmed, and he carries no hint of his previous anger in his voice. "I don't care for that idea, personally."
"So you want me to spend eternity in a hell you designed, brainwashing souls to become more like you?" Therien scoffs. "Punishing those who dare to live a life of choices you disagree with. See, this is the kind of thing I was talking about."
He looks towards Araneae "And this one would use her power to push me into an eternal orbit around the flyspecks below. I have no power of my own to fight it now, but in the fullness of time, she may come to regret the choice."
"Soon, cousin," he says to Azrael, "you will gather your power and exercise it over the souls who swim in the depths with you. Will you allow for an alternative plan as to what may happen to them, or do Tissari's plans strike your fancy? I have acted in haste in becoming, and have expended too much of my energies already to do ought but try ti oersuade you to examine you own actions before commiting to a hasty acceptance of the status quo."
And the Lord of Atheism, sensing the stirrings of a conversation between new gods, left the stone Crested for his people to wonder at, and walked through a new door from the Great Axis and into the Shallows.
In this place, he was nothing in a truer form—simply an empty spot in the mists. And this made sense; he recalled that he had escaped death at least once, and now had no place in a place like this.
"A humble suggestion," he whispered from the darkness. "There is already a place—the Great Axis. An empty city, where time never passes. The Lord of Atheism would not mind if you sent souls his way, as long as it kept them out of the hands of ... more reckless entities. The Great Axis may lack the entertainments of life, but it is a place of quiet and contemplative peace and order."
"I am sure many of the gods will have their own opinion of what should happen to these souls. Araneae, whose decree of the mortality of creatures could be said to be your mother, if you truly were born from the first death. My Thirdfathers will each want different things. Zakaz will be determining a predator of souls, most likely, at some point. Maybe you will need to guard the souls from such a thing. You have claimed souls as yours for Judgement, and should be wary of attempts, such as Tissari's, to chip away at that declaration." Therien smiles "I would ask that you make your decisions with due consideration."
"Ah, the Emptiness speaks. Hello, Thirdfather Atheos. Order and peace and timelessness. Do they not already have all those things in your Realm, Azrael?"
Tissari shrugs. "Okay! No creation without cooperation. What's your ideas on the afterlife? What in particular do you take issue with?"
She pats Therien on the head. "Dawwww, you're so cute when you're sulky! But of course they have a choice. I mean, I'm fine with survival of the fittest, but going out of your way to be cruel and hurt others is just dumb. Wipe away all of the justifications and the truly evil want one thing: power. It doesn't matter what end you're putting it to, power gained by hurting other beings is evil. They make that choice, and because others are punished for it in life, they should at least be punished a little bit before being redeemed."
"Everything craves power, not just 'evil'. Power is what keeps other beings from hurting you. Power is what gives you freedom to make your own choices. Cruelty can be as useful a tool in this pursuit as bravery, love, or any others which encourage others to subvert their power to yours." Therien says, glancing towards Azrael "And any fool who subverts his power to another being without gaining benefit for himself deserves suffering much more than those marked by some arbitrary measure of 'goodness'."
"Easy there, fireboy," the Nothing calls in Therien's direction. "I don't know what mental instabilities you're dealing with, but keep to your place in the sky and we'll have no quarrel."
And, to Azrael, "I don't think ol' deathface here is planning to keep those things, and he doesn't seem to have any interest in politics or architecture. 'Judge,' yes, not 'king' or 'manager.' He's going to need garbage collection at some point, unless his idea of judgment is 'everyone sits in a bigger and bigger puddle forever', and I'm offering to take some of that off his hands."
Tissari taps her chin. "Mmmm. Perhaps we all could work on something together, Atheos, Azrael? Although Axis is, to be honest, a bit too... boring for my taste, we could make something out of it. And I must admit, equal judgement and an equal afterlife does lend more meaning to mortal actions, since being good won't end with a reward and being evil won't end with punishment. It lets mortals decide for themselves who they are, morality-wise, without external pressures."
A shiver of paranoia settles over the group as the presence of the Progenitor arrives. He does not speak at first. He listens and inspires a feeling of being stalked.
Should I concern myself with what happens after death? he wonders. But the Eclipse is correct. These souls should not be immune to the Hunt after a few short years of mortal life.
We are deciding the eternal fates of souls. I find it a huge assumption that the soul should remain in a single state forever. I propose that souls should evolve as their mortal flesh did.
Tissari nods vigorously, her smile widening. "Yes! Yes, this is what it should be! It shouldn't be just a few, deciding the fate of the many who are better than us in so many ways! It should be all of us. We created mortals, and we have a responsibility to them! Now, we just need two more. Or three, but considering that we haven't seen hide nor hair of him - no pun intended, Zakaz - I doubt he'll come. So come on, Lir, Aped!" She calls. "This is a momentous moment!"
The young goddess seems nearly manic with optimistic, perhaps even naive energy.
Her work done, Araneae turns to the discussion of the afterlife, ignoring the new god's threat. The stars that make up her form glitter as she speaks. "What happens to the souls after death is none of my concern. Fate determines a being's birth, its life and its death not that which comes after... Unless we give the mortals a further chance? - Perhaps their lives should be cyclical and infinite rather than fixed? Perhaps the Lord of Death might be willing to release them back into the mortal realm in a new form after a period spent in his care?"
Lir pops in "Don't we have some place set aside specifically to dicsuss these types of monumental decisions?. It's awful gloomy in here."
Zakaz, or the getting of impending doom that represents him at the moment, seems to agree. Let us take this discussion to the Vault.
"For souls to evolve, Thirdfather, they will need environs, predators, and struggles. Whether one wish to evolve them into 'good' as Tissari initially thought, or stronger and more capable beings regardless of morality as is your way, they will need to be tested. Azrael has declared himself judge, but has not set the parameters by which he will judge them."
"Perhaps," says the smiling Therien "The souls should be set to trials by our dear Azrael, and judged based upon their performance during these tests by him. Freed as they are from mortal needs such as food and shelter, their true worth can be made to be shown and Azrael may choose which among us shall determine their new form on an individual basis. If he determines a soul should be given over to a god, that god is responsible for what happens to the soul next. Some may sit eternal, others returned to their mortality for a cycle, or whatever other fate the god determines for those souls which have been entrusted to them by Azrael."
Tissari shrugs. "This is mainly Azrael's wheelhouse, so I feel it's only fair we do it in his domain. But I would not object if we moved it to the Vault."
At Therien's suggestion, Tissari's eyes start literally shining with glee and she claps her hands.
"YES!" she exclaims!
Zakaz considers a moment. That is the wisest thing you've said so far. He announces.
"They have their whole mortal lives to evolve," Azrael said with finality. "That is the point, isn't it? If souls could evolve and live as if they never died, why bother with these sad little sacs of flesh to begin with? Death is finality, for all things... even us." Still, he thought for a moment on the proposals of others, in particular Therein's points. One skeletal hand rested on the chin of his mask, and he mumbled incoherently as he pondered the ideas presented. "No gods will have dominion over the souls of the dead, not even myself. I am their judge, but not their master, and I have no desire to upset the laws I myself put forward. That seems rather foolish, wouldn't you think?" Still, Azrael's little silvered display is quickly inscribed with his thoughts and ideas--despite the fact that his hands never move--and soon after he seems to have a solid grasp of his own plans.
"One place for souls will not do; this First Axis is unknown to me, but if all souls were to languish in one place for eternity, why bother moving them from The Shallows?" He stops for a second, and he lets out a short laugh. "Of course! It seems so simple, you know, once you've come up with it." His little board clears, now marked up with an intricately drawn sketch, complete with names and labels; in the center of the diagram lies The Shallows itself, and scattered around it like the petals of a flower are a myriad of different little demiplanes. "The Shallows are my domain, and I can twist and warp them as I see fit. I'm not sure how easily it can be done--I'm not certain I have the strength to do it at the moment, perhaps I'll give it a test--but such offshoots seem the most elegant solution." Azrael already has dozens of different areas marked, with new ones sprouting up between the first of them as he speaks. "Souls will face my challenges and my judgment; from there, I will be their shepherd and nothing more. I, clearly, am ill-fit to be a king."
"Allowing a soul a second chance at life?" he says when the subject of reincarnation is brought up, almost at a whisper. "To risk it all, to be thrust out into the world again to live and die a mortal life? I... that is something I may have to mull over for some time. Such momentous decisions are ill-made on flights of fancy."
A strange being approaches Quarrel's End. She was tall, her skin ashen grey and swirled with spiraling patterns, her hair a cascade of flowing blue energy and her eyes glowing with the same light. Wearing Swarm carapaces almost in full-plate armor, she hails the guards at the gate in a beautiful, lilting language, her hand raised up, away from the long spear tipped with a claw at her back. Behind her are others of a similar race, wearing rough leather armor
This is Mirri, log date Seven-One, Five-Two. Being alive and not in constant, screaming agony is an experience I have only just come to fully appreciate.
As it should be apparent by now, I survived my encounter with, "the Swarm," as I have come to call the smaller ones, and was celebrating my victory with an improvised dance when I was summarily impaled by a scythe-like appendage through the abdomen.
Naturally, this was a disorienting experience.
I managed to slide myself off of the appendage and, after a not-insignificant fight, killed the "Crested," who, after a close autopsy, appeared to be sentient.
I spent the next few months recovering. And screaming. And sleeping. Then screaming some more. Then ruminating upon all of the terrible choices that had led myself to that point. And to top it all off, yet more screaming.
Miraculously, I survived! I believe it's because my blood is poisonous to many native creatures on this planet, and there was enough of it spread on the ground for them to be wary.
After I recovered from that little... incident, I moved on, as always. There were numerous logs detailing my various rants and ravings about all of the little inconveniences of this rock, but I have deleted them because they were taking up too much mnemonic space. And shame. Primarily shame.
I proceeded to discover other irtara on my journey. Mostly corpses, for the first few months, but I met living ones eventually. There's Kara, an excellent cook and archer. A bit shy, quiet, but you do not want to get into a fight with her. Alay, a good survivalist. She somehow got her hands on a Crested crown, although I've never asked how. Good with a joke, a bit boisterous, and she's discovered an odd form of anesthesia that delays the pain until the next morning, although side effects include a splitting headache, dizziness, retching, and shame. Ifara, our resident Stormwielder, is wry, and tends to stay away from the fire. Note: Stormwielder isn't a good word for her. Perhaps "mage" is a better one. She doesn't really stormwield anymore. And Ura, and Milago, and Josha, and Rayva, and Transi. There are so many.
And, despite my protestations on the matter, they've elected me their leader.
We travel as our own pack now, as we move on to the Shard. We hunt, we survive, we fend off crazed bogwurms. And now we discover more sentient life, if this... primitive settlement that Alay scouted from afar is any indication. We have decided to try a more peaceful first contact this time around.
Therien's smile fades as Azrael comes to his decision. "Well, that's settled, then. I shall return to my domain. The sun needs expanding. Since souls will remain with you, cousin, it seems they have little value to the rest of us. Enjoy your playthings."
Walking into a town of humans and meeting two mighty looking Crested must be a shock. The two turn as one to the newcomer. They take in her armor and snort in perfect unison. The flyer's feathers twitch. They move in unison toward Mirri, stop just outside striking range, and stare at the group. Their presence is intimidating, but their actions aren't hostile. Proud, yes. Belligerent, no.
Zakaz himself listens to the Lord of the Dead's pronouncement and shrugs before disappearing. If he wanted the souls he could have them, but they would not remain forever unthreatened. Nothing was allowed that luxury save the gods themselves.
For now though, he had a god to find.
The essence of Zakaz roams the universe, the Shallows, the Axis, and everywhere else, but he could find no trace of this secret god who had turned his Crested to stone. He searches everywhere until, finally, the interior of the planet itself was the only place left.
That would prove most difficult. He could not roam there like he did elsewhere. His divine presence would overwhelm the planet. He must think of another way.
Zakaz thought for a long while as the Shallows came into being and the world held its first high-stakes peach talks. Finally he decides that the best way to scout the earth was to give life to it.
Zakaz rejoins himself at the Shard and moves from the place he was waiting. He goes to the Shard and places a paw on it. From within came a rumbling, grinding sound. A few small pieces fell off and impacted the ground with heavy thuds. The rocks rolled together on their own and melded into a generally bestial shape with four legs and a "head". Shining metal glowed in it's veins and pulsed with a slow rhythm. Zakaz stood over it and spoke. You are make of the earth itself and your place will be there. I have given you life, now I give you your first purpose: Find me anything below that does not belong, anything not created by me or bearing the mark of my will.
The creature nods and shivers. After a moment of violent shaking like a mini earthquake it splits into two. Earth springs up to occupy the space left by the other in the split and soon the two are whole. This continues for a time until hundreds of these earth beings are present. They look at each other, then at Zakaz. They bow, then dive into the earth as if it was water and leave no holes by their passing.
Then the Shard started to glow from within and radiate the power of the primordial world itself. The glow builds slowly until it reaches a power that threatens to harm even the gods themselves, but it is not destruction radiated, but life! Every cell for tens of miles around fells like it is being set on fire by pure life energy. Nothing sleeps and trees bloom no matter if it is their time or not. Animals run without the slightest hint of tiring and flowers spring up in even the most unlikely places.
Then Zakaz Roars and the power bursts outward. The ground itself is pushed outward into a ring of steep mountains all around. Within this ring surrounding the Shard a great forest spring up. Trees reach for the sky and a grassy blanket covers the area, soft and thick. Within the forest time seems to slow, though it actually doesn't. Peace reigns and the only sounds are those of the forest. Everything is alive, and everything is in its ideal state. Even the predators.
Deep within the forest a deer not unlike the First Deer grazes below the Shard. A panther leaps from a tree high overhead and slays the deer in a perfect moment of natural violence. His hunt complete, the panther stalks into the woods to find more prey. The deer, obviously dead, lays there for a few minutes before getting better, standing back up and grazing away.
Therien looks down upon the moon's surface and beyond to the world below. He begins to mark the world, raising volcanos from the ocean and land alike, marking his passing across the world's sky, creating a chain of fire across the world to mark his daily passage.
On the moon, he creates a ring of them on the edge of the division between daylight and shadow.
0 pts Alter Land several times (modified by Elemental Mastery)
Therien appears in human form to a village near where one of the volcanos was raised. Already, these pitiful creatures struggled with such a minor change in the landscape.
No matter, he would show them the way to appease, a way to lessen the burden they faced. At length, he showed them the way the ash of the volcano helped fertilize the soil. He showed them how to harness the volcano's heat for their homes and their forges.
Then he spoke of the Eternal Eclipse, and how he had raised the volcanos as a sign of his presence, his watchfulness. He spoke of appeasing the god, and how the blessings would continue... in exchange for acknowledgement of the gift in the form of blood sacrifices. The people were to drain the sacrifice into the volcano, roast its flesh with the volcano's heat, and then eat it to become one with the great god's glorious gifts.
He then repeated this at every little village or town along the sun's path.
1 AP: Mundane Concept: Blood Sacrifice
0AP: Blessings of the Volcano People (modified by Elemental Mastery)
One of the bulkier irtara steps forward, gritting her teeth, but Mirri utters a sharp command and she backs down. She opens her mouth as if to speak, then abruptly smacks her forehead with her palm and whispers a command to a quieter, solemn woman in the back. Nodding, lightning begins arcing in the air as spiraling circles on her arms flare up. The lightning forms a symbol of a Crested and an irtara grappling in combat, with a huge jagged slash crossing the image. Mirri looks at the Crested expectantly, and mutters under her breath, "If this doesn't work, at least I'll get empirical evidence of the power of two Crested working in tandem. And presumably die."
The Crested take a step back when one of the itara conjures lightning and the female's head lowers in a clearly threatening pose, but they relax when the pictures reveal your intent. They nod in unison.
The female strides forward, sniffing and observing each of them at uncomfortably close quarters (with a particular interest in the lightning conjurer). She seems to settle on Mirri, however.
Without outward communication the male approaches and one of his upper arms reaches forward as if to shake hands.
At first there is nothing. Then her mind is hit with the feeling that millions of eyes have suddenly stopped to look just at her. They bore into her, but there are no words. Just concepts and emotion. Her mind is flooded with everything from curiosity defensive rage to a desire to devour herself.
The entire Cull turns her over and inside out like an appraiser guaging the value of jewelry. For her this is incredibly unpleasant. She can see and feel and smell EVERYTHING the hive mind is experiencing, and it threatens to tear her mind apart. But what she feels most from the Cull is a gnawing hunger. They are starving, and have decided to ally with people to survive. After all, a key concept of their Progenitor's directive was to keep the animals of the Planet in check and prevent the kind of over-hunting the are being forced to do ever since the birth of the sun god.
All this is without words. Slowly, for her, her language seeps out into the collective...
And then it is done. She snaps back into the real world. The Hive is still there, but it's a whisper through leaves compared to what it was.
The male works his mouth back and forth until he forms the words, Praise Zakaz! You are Cull!
They are more growls and snaps than anything, but still he speaks.
Mirri hesitantly reaches out her hand, and her eyes snap wide open as the Cull sweep through her essence, nearly overwhelming her. She pushes through it, gritting her teeth and nodding. "That... went much better than expected," she says, mildly surprised, before smiling. "Ahem. It is a... pleasure to meet you, I suppose. I am Mirri, if you didn't already receive that information via your Hive Mind. And you are... oh, you might not have individual names. Hm. Hive minds are complex. Anyways, perhaps we can help each other. I mean, this is a unique problem, so we would help you solve it anyways due to its nature, but perhaps you can guide us through these lands afterwards. If you would." Mirri pauses for a moment. "Language is new to you, isn't it? Apologies for bombarding you with words."
The male nods. How? Land empty. Silent. Dying.
"I believe some of these... hm. Whatever those odd, fleshy sapients are have discovered a solution to that. They're surviving, are they not? And your ability to rapidly evolve and adapt may come in handy." Mirri begins pacing back and forth, hemming and hawing. "The land is salted, spoiled. The water is too, but we may be able to fix that. And if we fix the water, we'll fix everything. Things will return to normal. Of course, the water will have to be transported to the places where it is needed first. Hm." Mirri turns to the mage and snaps her fingers. "Ifara! I need you to begin drawing up a stable water purification manifestation that can function, for, say, ten years. That should be enough to clear this land." Ifara nods. "Ura, help her out. You've been working on the theory of magic. And, um, other stuff. With her. That I'm... not going to mention in polite conversation. But I'll need to talk to the two of you about that later." Both irtara in question blush. "Alay, I need you to teach this two Crested about building and mass work. You were quite the builder on Kirtavo, so I'm sure you'll be up to the task." Alay salutes mockingly, and offers a wry smile. "Everybody else, get to work on the architecture of a system that'll be able to transport water across this area. An artificial river, of sorts." Mirri pauses her pacing. "And I... I will..." she thinks for a moment. "Hm. I will attempt to communicate with these creatures," she gestures broadly towards the assembled crowd of gawking humans, "and see if I can convince them to pitch in."
Mirri clears her throat and turns towards the assembled crowd. "Um..." she lays her spear on the ground and raises her hands in the air. "Peace," she drawls slowly, then repeats herself. "Irtara." Mirri points to herself and the rest of the irtara. She then points towards the assembled crowd, and says, "Who?"
Tissari suddenly appears in Azrael's domain, floating upside-down as her fiery hair brushes the bottom of the Shallows. "Y'ello!" she chirps, before righting herself and dusting off ash from her leathers. "Yeesh, it's going to take a bit to get used to the sun. I was just slightly adjusting the mass of the moon, and whoopsy-doopsy, I fell into it! Also nearly Kirtavo. But it didn't. Thankfully." She pauses for a moment, finger on her chin. "Why did I... oh, yeah!" she snaps her fingers, her fiery eyes lighting up even more. "Ahem, I proclaim, yadda yadda yadda, the whole gist is the thing is would you care to take a peek at this pantheon thing we've got going? It's basically a non-aggression and allyship treaty. Anybody in the Gods of the Vault can't touch anybody else's stuff without their permission, and in case somebody outside the pantheon decides to start messing with things, we stand together to defend the universe and all of that. Sound interesting? We also kind of lend a little bit of power from each other, so we all end up with a net gain."
Azrael, having found a worthwhile idea for the afterlife, quickly creating branch after branch off of The Shallows to serve as a myriad of places for souls to reside. He forged demiplane after demiplane, crafting each individual one for those who passed or failed certain tests of his own devising until the possibility were as expansive as the answers he might receive. When he was finished, he sat once again upon his throne and looked outward with his divine sight onto all the realms of the dead that he had formed, and gave a contended sigh. As he began to set about looking through a few souls he might judge, Tissari appeared before him. He gave her a nod when she appeared, watching the shadows the danced as her fiery hair cast light around his throne room.
"Why, that sounds absolutely delightful," he said after a long pause. "How would I go about joining such a thing? Is there some sort of... initiation?"
Somewhere in the bowels of the planet, amidst magma and lava, a serpentine body stirs, and awakens as the air around it grows slightly cooler. The red glow around it is soothing and comforting, but it is lost in loneliness and desires that it does not yet comprehend.
AP 5 = Elemental Mastery: Fire
AP 5 = Elemental Mastery: Magma
But even there in the midst of this great cavern of glowing black stone, it sees things of beauty, veins of glistening gold and glowing red metals meander through the blackness. When it reaches out with its burning claw, the veins of metal melt into the pools of lava beneath it. It frowns, its jaw taking on a twisted visage of its former appearance.
"This will not do!" A whisper of gurgling magma erupts from its mouth, and the magma around it becomes brighter and hotter as the serpent's ire rises.
It searches the cavern carefully as an idea overcomes it. Its claws were burning and hot, it could not take the beauty itself without destroying it. But smaller hands might. But not too small. This creature would have to be strong too, but mostly able to retrieve the metal the serpent desired, even if it could never grasp it.
A large outcropping of black stone and hardened magma called its attention. With careful skill it used its burning claws to carve out the likeness of a creature, bipedal, with eyes to see in the dark should it wander out of the cave's light, and arms to extract the metal: claws similar to its own but not burning. And then, as gently as it could, breathed a warm breath of life into its gaping mouth.
AP 2 = Create Sentient Life (Dwarves with long claws instead of hands.)
Tissari suddenly pops into existence behind Lortimas, whistling. "We are getting way too many fire gods," she remarks wryly. "Anyways, how do you do? Or perhaps what's your name. Yeah, that generally comes first, right? Hm. Does it? I didn't create polite conversation. Don't really have a good handle on it. Anyways, I'm Tissari! Pleasure to meet you." She leans in to whisper in Lortimas' ear. "Oh, and, uh, be on the lookout for an angry panther god. Somebody messed with his creations, and he knows that whoever it is is underground, but I don't think that's your style."
At first uncertain if the Divine Spark's appearance indicated an attack of some type, Lortimas unfolded its wings of hardened magma and splayed itself much as a cobra might if defending itself. When it realized she was not attacking it, it relaxed once again.
"Greetings Tissari. I am...." The great serpent pauses as though searching for a moment in its own mind. "I am Lortimas." It considers her words for a moment... "I saw nothing here when I awoke, so I assumed I was alone. Tell me of this..." It pauses again as it attempts to sound out the new word. "Panther god."
"Oh! His name is Zakaz. He kinda created the world you're living beneath right now, and all of the life on it. His best creation - I find them fascinating, personally - are the Cull, these sorta super-adaptable apex predator things. Most of them aren't sentient, but some are. Then there's Atheos. He kinda keeps us all in check, makes sure that we don't go far. A voice of reason, of sorts. Atheos made humans, and this big plane where he hangs out, but that's pretty much. Then there's Apedemak. Really dramatic, that fellow, always proclaiming this or that. He helped out the humans after Atheos created them. Aranae is the only other goddess, but she's kinda mysterious. Made the stars and fate and stuff. That sorta thing. Liristel - ah, screw it, we all just call him Lir anyways. He's this kinda roguish sort, made these elemental people and a really big forest. Azrael is new, and he takes care of everybody who's dead, if that makes sense. And Therien is also new, and he's all pouty and grumpy, so he made the sun and some blood cults. And somebody else, but we don't know who yet. They've been keeping to themselves, mainly. We only learned of their existence when he really pissed off Atheos, Aped, and Zakaz all in one stroke."
Lortimas considers her words, releasing a sound that might be construed as a laugh, or the crackle of a large bonfire. "I remember you now that I hear your voice more, Tissari. I dreamed of you when my lifeblood flowed regularly through these caverns." With a claw it picks up some of the liquid magma and lets it fall again into the pool beneath it.
"You are... wiser than I. What do you think of my creation?" It turns towards the new creature of magma and stone that was cooling into something roughly humanoid with large claws. It was alive, and sentient, but seemed to be waiting for something. "I wish to have it remove these.... lines of glowing metal from the walls. Do you think that is something that can be accomplished....? I, unfortunately, cannot touch the metal, at least not in this form."
"Hmmm... oh! This is a project I've been meaning to work on for a while!" Tissari snaps her fingers, and her glowing "notebook" appears in the air once more, spiraling with symbols, equations, doodles, and notes in absolutely atrocious handwriting. "Alright, let's see here..."
Tissari suddenly finishes her blur of activity, and boops Lortimas on the nose, imparting him with all of her theories and how to apply them. "There you go! Consider this my belated first manifestation gift to you! Your creations should be able to enact this pretty easily, and get all the gold you could ever want!"
Lortimas's nose flickers for a moment when Tissari "boops" it, but its eyes grow wide as the knowledge flows through his mind.
"My thanks, Tissari. You are indeed wise, and imaginative. That is an interesting device you have."
With more effort than she seemed to bear herself, Lortimas bent over his creation and whispered into its ear, the flame of its voice crackling and magically infused. The creature understood however, and began to work straight away at the glowing metal.
Lortimas watched in fascination, momentarily forgetting Tissari's presence.
Zakaz's bipedal small rock creatures begin to burrow down into the ground. Their hands and feet making quick work of the earth through which they travel. As the burrow individuals occasionally randomly pop into a tunnel with a faint green glow coming from mushrooms. The green light, though faint, was enticing. It nudged an idea into the mind. Hunger. The geodites did not succumb at first. They continued to burrow or were lead by curiosity through the tunnels. But eventually, when hunger mounted and nothing but winding, crossing tunnels were found, the mushrooms were tried. The flavor of the mushroom was decent, but the body felt refreshed. After a few moments confusion ensued. Confusion from lack of memory.
Zakaz sent us to find something but where am I? What have I found?
A long time later some geodites returned to Zakaz with confused looks on their faces. Their high pitched gravelly voices said that they found something underneath vault but they could not remember what.
Azrael just stared emptily for a moment when Tissari disappeared, before finally standing up and traveling to the Vault of the Gods. He remembered seeing the stone the first time he was there but had paid little attention to it, but when he looked upon it again he saw the script written above it, and approached. "How interesting," he muttered. He mused on the writing for some time before he finally pressed one hand against the stone; when he pulled his hand away,
a strange symbol was left etched into the stone where his palm had been. With that, he strolled away and looked out upon the great expanse of the world the others had crafted, and frowned.
"What a waste," he thought, watching so many die and suffer through illness and disease before the succumbed and made their way to his domain. "The only gift I have ever given you has come after you shed your bodies and came to me, but all the others of this pantheon have crafted things to make your lives better. Perhaps, if I am to join them... I should do the same." Azrael was at once upon the world, walking through the cities with hands outstretched. His magic mended wounds and cured diseases, even purged poisons from the veins of mortals. He walked through every settlement on both the Earth and the Moon, healing with a gentle touch. If he came upon a mortal who, when looking at them with his divine sight, he could see the time of their judgment was close at hand, he would at the least bestow upon them a peaceful passing. Once he was done, he traveled back to the Vault to gave upon his accomplishment. "Mortals are such interesting little adventures," he thought. "Let that be my gift to you," he uttered, and with a snap of his fingers they had been given the gift themselves.
Zakaz snarls and growls. Finally.
Zakaz bound to the Vault. His claws dig into the soil he had just claimed as his own and he covers the distance at a blistering pace. He arrives at the spire upon which the Vault sat and is met there by some of his Geodites. They lead him down to where their memories stopped. He runs through the rock as freely as air. The rock simply moves out of the way as it's creator passes.
Zakaz bursts into the tunnels with a mighty roar. No measley tunnel system could deter him now. He had the scent. He races ever closer to the lair of the Secret One With an inevitability seldom seen outside of mortality itself.
As Zakaz began to near what seemed to be the center of the maze-like tunnel system he could hearing something. His sense of a diefic presence pointed him down corridor after corridor. As he drew closer he recognized the sound, it was laughter. The laughter echoed louder and louder. The laughter was soon accompanied by something else. Words.
”Here kitty kitty….[laughter]…here kitty kitty…[laughter]…"
Finally Zakaz came to a corridor that ended in great, stone double doors. When the doors opened they revealed a giant spherical room with a thin column from the center of the floor to the center of the chamber. Atop this pedestal sat a wispy silhouette shadow of a humanoid. The shadow's left hand balanced a metal cube on one of its corners. It's right seemed to cover where a mouth would be as it shook in line with the laughter that echoed.
The figure soon stopped laughing and cocked its head," And who is this that is graced by my presence?! Hold on so that I might see you," it commanded as its right arm made a lifting motion. As the figure's arm moved a ball of light rose above its head illuminating the entire chamber.
Some time after he had created Arcane magic, Liriiestil decided it was time to visit the domain of Tissari, for there was a power there that could be harnessed. He took with him a quartet of Lirthari, each powerful sorcerers, and transported them to the surface of the moon. In order to fully experience the amazing power of the mindstorms that constantly swept the planetoid, Lir and his brethren strode directly into their path, be they sandstorms, rains of fire, blizzards or thunderstorms. They sought out all of these and more, and danced among their devastation, letting their natural resistances to the elements protect them.
After months of seeking out these incredible natural disasters, the lord of the elves felt he fully understood their might, enough that he could teach it the Lirthari who accompanied him. Taking them to a vast wasteland, he taught them how to channel the power of the elements, such that could blast the earth with lightning, freeze their enemies with bitter cold, toss explosive balls of flame, and melt flesh and bone via caustic acid.
A whisper on the wind and a hint of darkness fall on an isolated mountain range. From the darkness between the rocks, a figure creeps forward, slowly coalescing into shape. It twists and writhes, seemingly unsure of its own form for a long time. Then it slowly grows out, with tentacles and claws appearing from the mass and heads of strange beasts that do not exist yet forming momentarily only to melt away in an instant. The being slowly draws itself together, becoming a tall vaguely humanoid figure seemingly made of darkness. Tendrils ripple on his back and his featureless face shows only blank white eyes as he takes in his surroundings. In his mind he hears the whispers of mortal fear and comes to a sudden realization.
He reaches out and with one of his claws severs the tentacles on his back. They tumble to the ground and dissolve into black dust. Then he anoints the dust with a drop of the black ichor that is his blood. Slowly the grains of dust swell and grow, becoming flesh once more. The new beings resemble their maker, hairless with ebony skin and milky eyes. They seem to grow more distinct as he allows them to grow and shift until they settle into three forms. A small number are tall and lethe, but have wide eyes and a curious look that shows obvious understanding. The second are stouter and ripple with muscle, their gaze dull and a bit cruel. The last resemble slim humans, with little to distinguish them other than their coloring.
"I am Arathoth," he murmurs, his voice a grating echo that sends shivers down the spine. "And you are my children of night, my Nithran. You are born of my flesh and I send you forth to carry out my purpose. Others will follow you in the same way, but know that you are the first of my children and will spread and grow as all mortal races do, so you might be part of this world forever. You will live in the shadows and allow fear to spread through this world. Each of you is born with purpose. You..." He points to the ordinary looking ones. "Will be the workers and artists. Makers, builders, and all things that you will need to build your lives. You..." He points to the muscular ones. "Will be the warriors. You shall spread fear and fight those who oppose you. And you..." He points to the tall, clever ones. "You will be the leaders who will guide your people once I am gone. You five..." He points to the first five darklings born of his flesh. "You five who were my first children will be the first among them. As long as you live, you and your descendants will rule. But should another prove more worthy and cast you down, they shall take you place."
He looks over his new race as they stare at him with a mixture of understanding and fear. Yes, yes this would do. "You will dwell in darkness and those who do not may shun you. But I will give you three gifts. First, I give you faith. Know that as long as you hold yourself to my decrees that I shall favor you and my future children will not hunt you. Second, I give your power. I grant you the power to warp the mind and senses and to inflict pain and fear on those who would harm you. Third, I give you my blessing. So long as you work in my name, my favor shall be with you and your prayers will reach my ears." Understanding seems to dawn on the beings and they begin to whisper in raspy words to each other as the gifts laid upon them awaken their minds. They are only a few hundred for now, but they will grow and multiply rapidly. Soon they will be strong enough to stand with the other mortals whose fears whisper at the back of his mind. He raises his hands and gestures to the gaps in the rocks. "Now, go forth into the lands beneath and find a place where you are safe to build and grow. In time, you shall be great." The Nithran disperse, disappearing into the caves and crevices of the rocks to find their homes beneath the earth. Arathoth smiles. They'll be an interesting surprise in a few generations. How fun this playing the long game thing will be.
Zakaz growls. You want to see me better, shadow? He jumps, flying toward Shess so far me may as well have teleported. He drips just in front of the other god, inches from his shadowy form. His glinting teeth and starlight claws glow in the light. You have acted against me. Why?
