Though he could imagine neither the complexity nor the variety, nor that essential glamour that lay within, of the world that now stretched before him like a scrumptious smorgasbord upon the banquet table, Allure knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it contained much magnificence for him to savor, and the knowledge made him giddy. With a spring in his step he left the Deepwood behind, his heart soaring with possibility. He marched through the trees, and with his questing eyes scoured the bark of every tree and the surface of every stone. Knotted wood did not excite him, but neither did it incite him to action. He did not, after all, seek to coax the beauty for which he longed from the stage and backdrop where it promised to appear. Nevertheless, he could find an esoteric artistic statement in the rhythmic swish of leaves and the nurturing golden sunlight which filtered through it. Its warmth dotted his face. How divine, he mused, could this luminous treasure be if personified in human form!

From the underbrush a noise caught his attention, and Allure held his breath. The moment of discovery thrilled him: would the living thing soon to cross his way embody the beauty of nature, or its unsightly flaws? He dropped to his knees and stilled himself nearly enough to stop his heart, less by his movement he frighten the approaching creature away. When the beast finally emerged from the billowing leaves, the handsome man could not contain a gasp.

Patterned from muzzle to toe it was, clad in an ostentatious coat of tawny yellow and ebon black. Like the brilliance of the sun between the mask of the canopy, it flaunted its spots, yet paradoxically the harmony of spotted cat and spotty light hid the former from view. Slowly, curiously, the leopard stalked forward. Its every movement belied sinews beneath the gorgeous fur; it moved with a predatory grace and confidence. Allure stretched out his hand, bending his fingers downward like claws. After a moment, the beast began to move in. ”Yes…that’s it,” the man whispered. A gleeful smile played across his lips. ”Come and let me…touch you.” It stopped short a few inched from his fingertips, but Allure did not wait. He reached out, predator to predator, and nestled his hand in the thistle-soft fur on its head.

A quiet, peaceful moment passed. The leopard made a sound of pleasure; the man’s lay apparent on his face. ”You are a beautiful creature,” he crooned. ”Proud, colorful, deadly. Were that you were a woman. I could lose myself to a wild, gorgeous girl with that quiet tenacity and supple grace.” The moment of serenity and unity among two of the most gorgeous things alive persisted a short time longer. Allure gave its ears one final stroke. Then, rising to his full height, he turned away, and the cat departed unchanged.

Scarcely had it gone when a new noise bade Allure twist around. This newcomer, he could tell, shared none of the subtlety of the tawny hunter whose beauty he admired. With a startling abruptness a mass of bluish hair, amorphous and odorous, burst through the foliage. Allure fought fiercely to suppress a violent gag, and failed. It landed next to him in an ungainly pile and tumbled through the long grass for a couple of seconds, forcing the man to press a hand to his face in horror. With his other hand he reached out dramatically, and cried at Navy as it bunched itself up to leap away, ”Vile, disgusting blob! In my most fevered nightmare I could not have imagined that hair, a canvas for fascinating art, could be so sullied! You must allow me to give you a trim!”

So saying, he articulated his fingers into a rigid, flat formation and swiped horizontally. Instantly, Navy flew apart, two wretched blue hairballs rather than one, split perfectly through the middle. Filled with manic drive, Allure began to dance. He span and swung his arms, his balance suitably flawless, and with every turn of his gorgeous body threw another slashing motion Navy’s way. In less than ten seconds, only noisome shreds of the thing remained, and Allure ceased his dance of death with an extravagant poise. “Aha! You are not now so contemptible. You have sacrificed your very life so that I could make my beauty shine; perhaps you were not the basest form of ugliness I’ve encountered thus far.” Gathering himself, he leapt forward to the epicenter of carnage. In a rough circle, about fifteen feet across, the grass –which lay flat, as it, too, had been cut- bore a garish blue stain.

Ahead lay the open savannah, where the land itself assumed myriad forms beneath an endless blanket of grass. Rather daintily, Allure navigated out of the blue splatter, only to hear yet another noise coming from behind. Spinning around in a single hop, he gazed back the way he came and beheld a colossal orange ant. A quizzical look crossed his features as it approached. ”What’s this? An oversized grub thunders toward me…does it seek to strike me down? There is nothing beautiful about idiocy—except its demise.” He raised a finger as if stricken by a profound thought. Patiently waiting, he watched the ant draw closer, but to his confusion it began to slow down. It slid to a colossal stop a few feet away to regard him with black eyes. After a brief pause, Allure curled up his finger and placed it beneath his chin, musing upon the odd behavior as he examined the gleam of brilliant sunlight on its carapace. He smirked. ”Oh-ho! I know why it is you have changed your tune. Though you are grossly engorged, you are attuned to natural life, yes? And you have discovered that I, most perfect Allure, am most perfectly natural, as all beauty is. Perhaps it astounds you, too, that the world is so full of hideousness when beauty is so ingrained in the idea of life.”

Allure performed a backflip, sailed through the air, and landed smoothly upon a large branch on the last Acacia tree before the proper savannah began. The eyes of the giant ant followed him. Shaking his head, Allure lamented, ”Though you’ve perhaps a smidgen of wisdom with you, and intellect bears an ethereal beauty most admirable, I can see no way to redeem your ghastly form…save, of course, one.” He traced a fingertip along the body of the One By Gods Altered, severing in a single stroke the bottom half of all six of its legs. With a thump the huge insect collapsed to flounder among the grass. Its attacker appeared oddly intrigued for a moment before he tilted his head back and laughed, ”Ah, hah hah! Your suffering is exquisite. The smell of your blood seduces me…and yet, makes me hesitate. You’ve been touched by divinity. To redeem you with my cutting charms could embroil me in the rancor of a god. Though I care not for reproach, I must admit I am not yet powerful enough to dash to pieces the cosmic horror of a god.” He slipped backward off his branch and fell to earth, knees bending to absorb the impact. Placing one foot in front of the other and holding his hand out to the side, he bowed, saying, ”And so, you are spared. See that you become more beautiful for when next we meet, insect.” Laughing, he turned around and sped away, dashing through the grass with the predatory grace and speed of a spotted cat.

Teknall had made his protectors. Now he could work on developing the sentient life of this planet. From afar, he observed the tribes of the Hain. Already they had been imbued with an intelligence which allowed them to make simple tools and shelters, yet their skills were lacking. They had no guidance other than their own trial and error and drive for efficiency. Over many, many generations they might get somewhere, but it would be a slow process. Teknall could not bear for such intelligent life to languish in lack of inspiration.

The trick would be finding the least intrusive way possible to provide such inspiration and teaching. He could implant knowledge directly in their minds, but he was no thought-weaver. He could do so for small things, but for such a huge leap in knowledge it would be jarring for their mortal minds. He realised that, if he wanted to do it properly, he would have to teach them by demonstration.

So Teknall reincarnated himself. Gone was his arbitrary human form, and he was remade in the image of a Hain. His form was pretty average for a Hain. Teknall flexed his strange new exoskeletal joints, and blinked his newly arranged eyes. This blind spot right in front of his face would prove to be a hassle for the purpose of crafting. It was no trouble for Teknall, for his senses were not limited to sight, but for the other Hain it was a hurdle to be worked around. There were also fewer fingers on his hands, although they were just as dexterous. Finally, adorned himself with a leather apron and pouch for holding his tools.

His tools also needed changing. He could not walk into a tribe with flawlessly milled tools of steel. He swapped his tools for some of hand-chipped flint and stone, bound onto wooden handles. He also fashioned for himself a rawhide satchel and filled it with more tools of similar type, and slung that over his shoulder. Finally ready, he walked across the plains of golden grass towards the nearby tribe of Hain.

This newcomer caused a stir among the Hain. Firstly, lone nomads were rare to the point of being unheard of. Secondly, he wore some strange attire. Thirdly, there was some aura about him, something they couldn't quite put their finger on, and they felt it only very faintly. But the newcomer walked confidently, and soon he was before the tribe elders. "Greetings, elders."

One of the elders, slightly confused and mildly suspicious, cautiously replied, "Greetings, stranger. What brings you here?"

"My name is Stone Chipper, and I am a wanderer, collecting knowledge and skills from abroad," Teknall replied, "If you would allow me to stay with your tribe for a while, then maybe I can share such knowledge with you. I also bring some gifts, as a gesture of goodwill."

Teknall took the bag from his shoulder and offered it to the elder who greeted him. The elder took the bag and inspected its contents, and his face became one of curiosity when he saw the tools within. They were all expertly crafted, and included stone axes, flint knives, flint chisels and stone hammers. Even the bag was of interest, for the process of creating rawhide was not yet known to the Hain. The other elders gathered around to take a closer look.

Teknall smiled, or at least expressed the Hain equivalent of a smile, seeing that his plan was working and his work appreciated. "I can show you how to make such things, if you allow me to stay."

"Of course, of course," answered the elder, now quite keen to have this visitor, "Make yourself at home, Stone Chipper."



Teknall stood in front of a natural flat stone outcropping he was using as a workbench, with a rock the size of his head sitting in front of him. Standing in front of him was an audience of about 7 Hain of varying ages.

"...The trick is that you've got to strike it along the grain. See here? Look for yourselves." Teknall held the stone forwards, and each of the Hain took their turn inspecting the stone where Teknall pointed. "A good flint chisel works nicely. In a pinch you could use stone, but try not to use any stone chisel softer than the stone you are trying to split. So, I line up the chisel along the grain, and then I will give it a strong, sharp blow with my hammer-" And he did so, bringing his stone hammer down on the chisel, the force being transmitted into the stone he was working, which split cleanly in two with a sharp crack. "-and now I have two rocks. By doing this, I can split stones into smaller pieces of pretty much any size I like."

He proffered his hammer and chisel to the crowd. "Who would like to try?"



The two rocks clashed together one more time, another shard of sharp stone being struck from the rock and landing in Teknall's leather apron on his lap. Among his audience this time was a teenage girl and a middle-aged male who had also brought some tools and stone for them to practise stone knapping themselves.

"To make a sharper and sharper edge, you need to move to softer and softer tools," Teknall instructed, pointing to the edge of the axe head he was making, "Otherwise you will damage the fragile edge."

He put down the stone he was holding in his right hand, which he had been using as a hammer, and picked up a porcelain plate, one he had collected earlier for this purpose, and then struck the axe head with the porcelain. His expert touch caused the stone to shed small filings exactly where he wanted them to, sharpening the edge. "As always, you need the right tool in the right hands to do the right job." He looked up at his audience, especially those two who were trying it themselves, and upturned his palm in a hain-smile. His hand then reached down to where he had put his tools, picked up a Pearskin Cattle femur with the end shaped to a rounded point, and began hammering with that.



A Hain was lashing a blunt stone onto a straight branch with a length of long, narrow tree root, making a hammer. The Hain then received a tap on the shoulder, and turned around to see Teknall. "Ah, Stone Chipper. What is it?"

"Why do you use only one thread?" Teknall queried, "Wouldn't it be stronger if you used multiple threads?"

The Hain thought for a few moments, then nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

Teknall stooped down and plucked a few long strands of grass, and between his fingers he twisted them together. He then tugged on both ends of the string, demonstrating their strength. "Together the strands support each other. If one is about to fail the others hold it together, and even if it still fails the others remain." He handed the string to the Hain. "Try it yourself."



Darkness was over the Gilt Savannah, the small moons in the sky providing only a token amount of light. Yet the stars were clearly visible, and the ring, the smashed remains of Lex, glimmered faintly with reflected sunlight. On the surface of Galbar, only creatures with the most keen night vision would be able to make out any more than silhouettes against the horizon.

Yet Teknall did not need vision, for he had the divine sense of perception. He had sensed a pack of Ashlings, made of about 15 Pearskin Cattle, slowly en route to the village, from over 100 miles away, and after seeing that they were not going to stray from their course Teknall had left the village under cover of nightfall to drive them off. He would not have his efforts be interrupted by something as crude and preventable as a pack of Ashlings.

In the center of the Ashling pack, Teknall revealed himself, dropping his concealment and manifesting in his full divinity. He stood twice as tall as a Hain, about as tall as a human, and instead of white porcelain he was covered in plates of glowing gold, casting light across the savannah, and in his hands was his adamantine maul. Immediately he swiped the maul in a circle around himself, destroying five Ashlings. With surprising speed, he advanced forwards, bringing the maul down on two more Ashlings that were in his path until he was outside the pack. He spun around, slamming his maul into another Ashling which was lunging at him, then he parried the proboscis of another, which had just shot forwards in a jagged mass of crystalline ash.

Teknall now stood his ground as the rest of the pack lunged towards him. With swift strikes he shattered the corrupt beasts apart, until only three remained. While highly violent, the Ashlings weren't totally dumb. They were fiercely outmatched, so they turned to flee, stampeding away. But Teknall didn't let his quarry get far. The maul dissolved away and in its place manifested two of his smaller, throwing hammers. He threw one, which flew forwards in a streak of golden light, flying as fast as an arrow. Even before the first had struck, Teknall through the second hammer at a different Ashling. The first hammer struck, destroying the Ashling on impact, and then dissolved in golden motes of light before reappearing in Teknall's hand, which he threw at the third and final Ashling. These beasts, as unnatural as they may be, fell just as quickly by Teknall's hand.



With a branch, carved to be a smooth, curved stick, in hand, Teknall walked over to a couple of hunters, preparing their flint-tipped spears for the hunt. He held the stick forwards, between the two hunters. "What do you think of this stick?" Teknall asked.

The hunters gave a puzzled look, but Teknall had been around long enough and proven himself to be wise enough that his words were to be listened to. They stared at the stick with a pair of eyes each. One of them then reached out to touch the stick. It was smooth, on account of it having been made smooth, but this is probably not what Teknall was referring to. So the hunter pushed it. Teknall held the stick firm as the hunter pushed harder, and given a reasonable amount of force the stick flexed and bent a fair angle, but did not break, and once the hunter removed his hand the stick sprung back into position.

"It's quite flexible," the hunter finally observed.

"Indeed it is. And it pushed back, did you notice?" The hunter nodded in response. "Good. Maybe, if we set it up correctly, we could make it push more useful things. Maybe throw things..." He glanced at the spears the two were holding. The hunters followed his gaze and seemed to catch on.

The other hunter gave an upturned palm. "If you can make it throw them further, I'd use it."



A young Hain boy walked timidly over the pebble-strewn ground and up to the mound of boulders. In his hand was a small bag which clinked and clicked as he walked. Teknall walked behind, urging him onwards.

"You sure this is safe?" the boy asked.

"Of course. I've dealt with these creatures many times before. They're quite friendly," Teknall reassured the boy, "Besides, if it was dangerous, I'd be doing it myself."

Onwards the duo walked, until one of the boulders stirred and stood, stocky limbs unfolding from its round form. It was initially quite startling for the boy, for the stony beast stood almost four times as tall as him, but Teknall put a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder and said, "Observe. The Stone Man is just curious. Now, remember the plan."

The boy nodded, took a deep breath, then stepped forwards. In front of the Urtelem, he emptied the contents of the bag. Out came a couple of handfuls of stone shavings and chips, leftovers from flint and stone knapping. He quickly stepped backwards, and a few moments later the Urtelem stepped forwards, leaned to take a closer look at the offering of stone fragments, then scooped them up with one big, fat hand and chucked them in its mouth. The sound of crunching stone was loud and grating.

Teknall patted the boy on the back. "What did I tell you? They love to eat stone!" He paused for a moment, then added in a lower tone, "One thing I know they don't like, though, are Ashlings."

"Ashlings?" the boy asked, his eyes growing wide.

"Yes, Ashlings. Terrible monsters. You don't want to meet them. Although, if you can keep these Stone Men near the village, you won't have to. Understand?"

The boy nodded, seeing the responsibility before him.

"Good. Let's head back for today."



Three Hain, armed with the newly invented bow, stalked a herd of Pearskin Cattle. One of those Hain was Teknall.

"You know the Sprinting Hunter," Teknall said quietly to the two hunters, in reference to the Fleet-Footed Mangler, "To catch its prey, it has a massive burst of speed. In the same way, the bow gives your smaller spears a massive burst of speed."

They slowly crept closer to the herd, trying carefully not to spook them. However, they did not have to get as close as they normally had to, since the bow had a much further range than their throwing arm. "Remember how we practised it."

And they had practised well, for the hunters were quick to raise and draw their bows and loose a couple of arrows on a single bull, the arrows both hitting their mark and sinking into the bull's flesh. It bellowed in pain and the herd began to flee, but the arrows embedded in the bull's hide prevented it from running as quickly. This allowed the hunters to fire another volley into the bull, further wounding it, and rendering it slow enough for the hunters to catch up to it on foot and slay it with a full-sized spear through the neck.

Teknall jogged up behind the two hunters and patted them on the back. "A hunt well done."

"Indeed," one of the hunters responded, "This is a fine weapon you have made."

So the three Hain picked up the bull carcass together and carried it back to camp.



A piece of hide, scraped clean of all meat, fat and hair, was stretched out in the sun between two wooden racks. Teknall was tending to it when a Hain walked by an asked, "What have you got there?"

"I'm treating this hide to make it stronger and last longer," Teknall explained, "I've scraped all the flesh off, so it won't rot. Now I've stretched it out and I'm letting it thoroughly dry. Then I'll have a sheet of rawhide."

"Oh," the Hain replied. The Hain then poked the rawhide sheet, and found that it was rather stiff. "Seems useful."

"Indeed. Once it's ready, I can work it into the shapes I want by wetting it, bending it and letting it dry again. It's a good, stiff, yet workable material."

The Hain nodded, then moved on to let Teknall get on with his work.



The sun was rising, and with a bag slung over his back and his apron over his front, Teknall was ready to depart after spending about a quarter of a year among the tribe. Most of the Hain were there to see him leave and wish him farewell.

"Must you leave, Stone Chipper? You have helped us so much," said one.

"I'm afraid I must. There are other places in this world, other Hain to teach," Teknall replied.

"Have we not provided you with enough? We could get you several wives," offered another.

"I am not after wealth or women. I search for knowledge, and that is something I cannot gain by staying in one place," Teknall said. More protests were raised, but Teknall silenced them with a wave of his hand. "I am going, and that is that. Farewell. May the knowledge I have shared with you serve you well. Always be learning."

Eventually Teknall was able to tear himself from their goodbyes and walk off, across the Gilt Savannah and over the horizon.



And it was like this that Teknall visited as many of the Hain tribes as he could find, across all of Galbar. Under the pseudonym of Stone Chipper the nomadic teacher, he taught the Hain many things over many years. He gave them the art of flint knapping, basic masonry and carpentry, fletching, rope-making, and many other fundamental skills, from which the Hain will be able to readily develop and expand technologically.

And by doing this, Teknall felt strength grow within him. Now, in the palm of his hand, a fetal civilisation was growing. In time, they would move past the mud huts and hunter-gatherer lifestyle and make towns, cities, empires. This was Teknall's drive, Teknall's purpose, and this spurred him on across the globe.



As Teknall was leaving one village, a Hain male of 22 years stepped forwards, carrying his own bag of belongings, tools and food, and said, "I want to go with you, Stone Chipper."

Teknall paused and considered the man for a few moments. This Hain was called Gerrik, and Teknall was quite familiar with him. Gerrik had show exceptional interest in his teachings, and showed a keen mind and inventiveness above and beyond that of the other Hain. He thirsted for knowledge, and was bold enough to put himself on the line for it.

"I see you have come prepared, Gerrik. Excellent. Let us go together, then."

And so this time, two Hain left the village instead of one- Teknall, the Great Artisan, and his new apprentice, Gerrik.

Vulamera, Goddess of the Mind. 12 MP 2 FP

Vestec, God of Chaos. 11 MP, 3FP

Strange visions of scholars or voices came to an end, as the Goddess of Knowledge awoke from her fainting. Vulamera's head buzzed round and round like a spin-top. If she had feet, she would no-doubt be as stumbling as a drunkard. "That. That was rather interesting, Varkarlon." The Scribe said what was certainly the understatement of the universe.

Then she cleared her voice, shook her unreal self of any lingering confusion, and took on a more formal tone. "I'll have to study what I learned, as will you, I am certain. We can meet up again to speak another time, for this adventure of ours had unleashed what is sure to be a wave of enlightenment through all the deities willing to listen." She glanced out to Galbar. "Much has changed since we were last conscious. New creatures populate this world, new landmasses have taken form... I will have to study it all in turn.

"Furthermore, should you ever find yourself in need of aid with the defeated God's ghost, I will never be further than a message away. You have earned an ally this day: one who's powers of the Mind could potentially suppress the lingering will of Serandor."

She did not wait for his response. A flashing of lightning resounded through the air and struck the earth, bringing Vulamera with it. She appeared deep within the Shattered Plains. Such a desolate land, inhospitable to life.

It may have been the Chaotic influence of this ruined, scorched place, but Vulamera did a very un-Vulamera thing: she took on a body. Not just the solid black sphere she had come to favor, or even the distordedly deformed creature she had mutated into up on Cogitare. No, instead she took inspiration from the truly humanoid configurations of her siblings. She also took inspiration from the vision that was still replaying itself, over and over, in her mind- not that it was a bother; she could keep track of many million trains-of-thought at any time.

The cloud that was Vulamera shrunk down, turning into a fleshy substance along the way. The flesh was molded and cut- reminding her of Jvan's strange art- into a human. An old woman. To be specific, it was the dying scholar from her inter-universal memories. She was now a decaying, wrinkled hag, dressed in moth-eaten robes of sea-green trimmed with black. Underneath her left arm was a book, but not just a book, but The Book: the encyclopedia of all this universe. The Codex of Creation was neatly tucked under the deceitfully feeble arm of the Scribe. Wielded in her right hand was the most powerful weapon of them all: a quill, for which to write her will for all to know.

Sitting atop her wide-eyed and otherwise kindly face was a severe injury. The upper-right quarter of her head, from her temple to the edge of her eyes, was exposed right down to the bone. Buzzing flies swarmed around it, always emitting a dizzying drone that confused the minds of anyone who drew too close. It would forever serve as a reminder of memories long-forgotten, and how they waste away like a corpse.

She bent down, her age having no effect on her range of movement, to run her fingers along Galbar's skin. It was clear to her now, that things had changed. She sensed through the earth all that had transpired since her meeting with the Chancellor of Chance, Vakarlon.

Perfectus, she knew already, had fallen. She did not care. It meant nothing. Perfectus was a barren and empty world from the start, made partially as an inspiration and partially as a mockery to Toun. Even if she had been conscious at the time, there was nothing Vulamera would have done to stop her creation from wiping out Galbar's life. It was not her place to interfere in the destructive nature of children. If Vestec wants to waste his life kicking over sandcastles, he may do so, much to his own unacknowledged loss.

She also saw that the animal God, Slough, had adapted an extraordinary capability to call up the souls of great beings. Fallen Gods and their fallen heroes came like willing dogs to her aid. Once more, Slough proved herself as the least intelligent but, perhaps, most powerful of their divine little family. The Transcendent Mother would soon have to do something about the Rottenbone's inflicted idiocy.

"I thank you, Vulamera, for your gift, and I accept it. I hope that in the future I may give you something as well." The strong intonation of Kyre pushed into her mind. She was vaguely pleased that he was pleased by the moon, but she was much further pleased that she had pleased him enough to further solidify an alliance between her and the powerful War God. Every mind needed a muscle to back it up, afterall.

Ah, but the most miraculous of the additions had now arrived! Toun's dreams were perfect only in their nonsensical, transparent absurdity, but his desperation for the unachievable made him strive for a greatness other deities could scarcely reach. He had become the first to create sentient life. She would need to study them in much detail later, possibly spending years on the configuration of their thought-patterns, or the beauty of their memories.

But right now, she had another agent to speak to. Her excursion into the mind of deities had left her with a need for more. Vestec had been the first to offer her a look into his skull, so then he would be the first- aside from Vakarlon- to have it.

She expected a diplomatic call would bore a God of Chaos, especially one so evil as Vestec. In contrast, she had a strong suspicion that a challenging message would amuse the fool to no end, thus soliciting a quick, efficient summons. She called to him with a harsh voice, one that almost implied aggression. "Vestec! We must speak, it is important. Come. Now."

Vestec was yanked by his observations and planning (after all there were more and more things to play with now that the world was being populated with creations. He was even ignoring Niciel's little watches, blatant as they were to his senses.) by Vulamera commanding in his mind. He giggled, amused at her attempt to be forceful with him. "The mind thinks it can just control chaos. Foolish. Impertinent." Nonetheless he showed up in a heartbeat, orbiting around Vulamera. He even took Niciel's two Wisps with him, so interested as she was with is movements. Vulamera surely had something interesting for him if she was even contacting him.

"Vulamera! Dear sister. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your summons?" He suddenly flipped upside down, stopping in front of her, staring at her wrinkled visage. "Is this because of your moons? If you must know it was to see which of our brethren would leap to the defense of the planet, and which would require more...pushing. Of course, that was before Vowzra ruined everything." Vestec crossed his arms, his colors flashing a sullen red as he pouted.

Vulamera smirked mysteriously, her etched lips creasing further from the strain. She was right in her suspicions: the Child God was as easily manipulated as to be expected. She was almost concerned for him. If Chaos Incarnate came so easily to the call of potential amusement, it would be no challenge at all for a more intelligent God to lure him in to any manner of nasty traps. He is a moth to a flame.

"No," she said, "you misjudge my nature. The moons were only a test, to reveal the personalities of each God. It would be difficult to explain, but suffice to say, I do not care what becomes of them now. I have learned what I needed, especially of you." Indeed, his insatiable desire to cast down what another had so wisely created revealed more about who he was than even Vestec himself may realize. She built slowly, he destroyed quickly, without thought or remorse beyond a passing instinct to do so. A bully, throwing rocks on anthills.

Suddenly his colors returned to their normal chaotic flashing, only brighter and far more rapid. "Or is this because of my offer a short time ago?" He ignored what Vulamera commented, instead focusing on the far more interesting prospect before him.

"Yes. I intend on looking into the minds of each of my siblings in turn, but you were among the first to grant me this chance. Other than chance himself." Her smirk turned to a shy smile, although she was unsure of whether Chaos Incarnate would know who she meant.

She was no fool. She knew the risk she was taking by coming back to the being that had driven her before to the edge of sanity. But there was no other choice. There are some people who, when an obstacle arises, can painlessly give up and go home. Vulamera is not one of those people. When an obstacle comes between her and knowledge, she simply shuts her eyes tight and hopes it won't hurt too much when she comes barreling through said obstacle. Even if she exposed herself to danger by making contact with Vestec, it would be worth it for the insights gained.

Furthermore, she had a creeping feeling that the other deities would not take kindly to sudden attempts to poke around in their heads. She had already been invited into Vestec's, and she had seen inside it before- she knew the geography of his deluded brain enough that she could avoid falling back into insanity. Or at least, one would desperately hoped so.

"Well, what are we waiting for then? If Vakarion gets a free session, I should too." Vestec gave a low bow.

"After you my dear."

"We cannot do it here. There is inherit risk in what we're attempting. Much to your certain disappointment, I will not be responsible for blowing another moon into orbit because I couldn't contain your mental energy. We will have to create a safe place, where nothing done by us will impact Galbar."

Vulamera lifted her black quill to eye-level. In one large, sweeping motion, she drew a blood red circle into the air. It hovered there without paper or solid medium. A smaller, darker circle was drawn within that one, and a darker one within that, so on and so on until almost a dozen came together to form an eldritch symbol. The spaces between each circle were quickly etched with indecipherable runes. It was beautiful, in it's own way, even though it looked like something out of Mammon's dreams.



The Codex of Creation then vanished once more into Vulamera's subconscious, to be hidden from Vestec's greedy eyes. With her newly freed left hand, she gave the floating rune a single, surprisingly swift open-palmed strike. It cracked like glass. The runes seemed to suddenly lurch within, caving in on themselves. The air around became distorted as the universe itself began to break under Vulamera's might. A screeching sound penetrated the plains, a deep mist like that on Cogitare lifted up from the ground... and space-time shattered. Left in it's place was now a ten foot by ten feet hole in the universe: a rip in reality.

Inside the portal was Vulamera's flawed but functional replication of the void-before-world. Nothing existed there but darkness, if one could call it darkness. True emptiness. A safe place to experiment.

The old scholar lifted her dress up above her ankles and stepped in. Without looking back, she aristocratically gestured with her hand for the Son of Chaos to follow.

"Where's the fun in not taking any risks? A controlled life is a boring life. Why do you think Zephyrion and I get along so well? We both recognize the importance of change. Even if I focus on violence and struggle and he focuses on general change." Vestec colors grew even brighter as he saw her pull the Codex of Creation out. The things I could do with that. He mused. However, he had promised Vulamera a free visit into his mind, and that meant he wouldn't be attacking them. Promises were promises after all.

Vulamera watched as Vestec entered, and as the portal shut behind him with a snap. They were alone, now. Truly alone, so that not a single fellow divine, nor a single living creature, nor a single shaft of light, nor even a single speck of matter interrupted their aloneness.

The Scribe sighed. Her last adventure into a God's mental realms had exhausted her almost beyond measure. Yet, here she was, about to try it all over again. I take far, far too many risks. After I have completed my task here, I must learn to practice not just intelligence and science, but wisdom and prudence as well. I will seek to find Vowzra. Of all my siblings, he is perhaps wisest. If I could touch his mind, I may absorb a fraction of his foresight. Once I have it within me, I may grow and expand on it myself, using the Codex as a catalyst for my growth. This process could then be repeated as many times as necessary, using the essence of various Divine Incarnations in tandem with my own essence of conscious. From Vestec, I may learn insanity; from Jvan, creativity; from Slough, sentience..."

She felt a growing impatience within her guest. At first it made her irate, but she quickly realized that Vestec was correct in this. They should not linger.

She raised her shaky hands into the void above, calling her fog to began tentatively swirling out from the fingertips. It gathered up in heaps around the Lady of Mind and Lord of Chaos, starting at their feet but gradually finding its way to their heads, so it could wrap itself around each of their eyes and ears, taking with it all senses beyond those which internal to the Mind. Shy points of light flickered deep within, as they had with Vakarlon, giving the inescapable impression of rainbow-shaded fireflies hiding in the fog. Also as before, the shrill buzzing of insects leaped into her subject's ears, growing louder and louder and louder still with each repetition. Vulamera knew, soon it would reach the point of becoming unbearable. Then the work could finally began.

And with every increase in volume, reality became more blurred. What is real and what is not-real mixed, fusing together like spilled paint. Vulamera entered Vestec's mind, and the thought's of God's slowly unfurled themselves in that place...

"Finally." A voice decreed. It wasn't Vestec's normal voice. It was cool, elegant and controlled. "Do you have any idea how dull it is being trapped in his mind with only these three to keep me company? Emotion could be good company, but she despises all of us." A man stepped from the fog, dressed in elegant black clothing. He had noble features, with black eyes that seemed to weigh and judge you like a piece in a game. "I am Corruption, the first of the four Gods that make Vestec. A pleasure, Goddess of the mind."

"A strange mind you have." Vulamera thought so not out of insult, but because it was honest. She could feel the innermost corners of Vestec's mind. Mountains of Violence's rage towered out from the shifting sands of Discord, which were eternally crashed against by the sorrowful oceans of Emotion. Corruption's black skies over-watched them all, laughing with thunder at their imprisonment. Only he was free, the others were caged like animals.

Now was not like last time. Before, the moment Vulamera had touched, Emotion and Corruption were both so insatiably desperate to escape that they had simultaneously launched themselves at her, leading to the Insanity that- even today- still haunted the Scribe. "You," she spoke accusingly to the Black One, corruption, "you are the detestably foul being that dared to plague me! I came here to learn of your nature, not to converse with you. Unless you aid me, speak not!"

Corruption chuckled softly. "I dared to plague you because I didn't want to be in this," he gestured to the crashing landscapes, "hellish hole. I can only watch while he tramples over everything in his path in a childish attempt at being relevant. He lacks...subtly. When he DOES decide he wants to use some degree of finesse, he lets me have some control. Those times are rare. And you should know best of all, Goddess of the mind, the way to learn someone's nature is to talk with them."

"Maybe. Fine, probably. I should not let my angst interrupt my learning. Despite this, I believe I have studied you sufficiently. It is your fellow prisoners I am most interested in."

"As you wish." Was the only comment from Corruption.

The clouds of Corruption thundered and shook, but let loose no rain. Vulamera descended from them. She touched ground on the coast of Discord, bordering the sea. Underneath her, the very sand seemed to grab, pull and grope at her feet. They clung to her hungrily, making each step she took in this 'hellhole' a painful struggle that no mortal could understand. But she could not stop walking, for pausing- even a moment- would allow her to sink beneath the sands. If it could, she knew, Discord would gleefully bury her here.

At length, the Goddess's journey found her a very, very active sinkhole in the sand. She attempted to skirt around it's edge, but it seemed that every inch of earth in this forsaken land was rapidly pouring into it's apparently bottomless maw. The sands began to move faster, pulling Vulamera with them. She stumbled, she fell, and she was pushed closer to the pit. She opened her mouth to scream, but sand poured into her throat, choking her and finally shoving her off the edge.

She fell, half-awake, down into the sinkhole. After what felt like an eternity, Vulamera hit the sandy ground. At the speeds she had plunging, the sand felt harder than reinforced steel. A human would have been reduced to a puddle.

The Mind shook herself. She stood up shakily on her own two legs, attempting to find balance in this unstable world.

The she saw Him.

To her left, on a blackened board, lie Discord. Vulamera saw now that he was chained to the wood, only able to move his head, while sand poured down forever upon him. She walked unsteadily over to his prison, and examined the chains. They were weak, and growing weaker every moment. Rust coated their surface. If she yanked with enough might, the chains would break and Discord would be free from Corruption's torture.

But she couldn't. She wouldn't. If Corruption was evil, Discord may well be worse. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him, "I can't free you."

Hissing laughter escaped the being attached to the board. "Don't worry, Goddess of Curiosity. My time will come soon enough." His voice changed with every word, tones and voices clashing painfully against each other. His form was in constant change and shifting, as if nothing fit together properly. "The four of us make up Vestec, and we will all be free in the end. Even if Emotion longs for death. I assume you came here for a reason. What would you like to know?" His head tilted in expectation, sand being ignored.

"Why?" Vulamera's brow furrowed. "Why do you fight yourself, Vestec? As you are now- chaining eachother up, biting and snarling like a pack of wolves- you will always be naught but a delinquent, when it is in fact your destiny to be infinitely more. You each claim to be Chaos, but even Chaos requires a modicum of harmony, or it will collapse in on itself, like this sinkhole has. A crippled body cannot fight. A house divided cannot stand."

Laughter echoed from four sides. The hissing laughter of Discord, the reserved chuckle of Corruption, the booming, hateful, laugh of Violence, and the bitter, mocking, laughter of Emotion. Discord was the one who replied. "We are not Vestec, and Vestec is not us. Let me give you a history lesson, Goddess of Curiosity. In the beginning, when we were all called forth, we were too weak. Failures, rejects, flawed creations, whatever you prefer we were all doomed to be drawn back in and destroyed. Violence, Corruption, and I took offense to this. We combined our essences to give us strength. It worked, after a fashion, but we were still too weak."

"So we turned our combined strength on Emotion, and forced her to bind with us. When we were all together, there was a struggle for power. You see, none of us meshed together well. Not in domain wise, we worked perfectly well there, but our personalities do not allow us to work together. We fought, struggled, and clawed from each other. From our struggle, Vestec was born. We created him, and he subjugated each of us. Corruption was the first to break free." Discord shrugged. "I don't know who is next, but each of us is being freed. You see, these chains aren't Corruption's doing. They are Vestec's. He is controlling and binding all of us."

Vulamera knew the history of Vestec's creati
on. She had been semi-present during it all. She had watched the savage rape of Emotion at their hands, and she had been disgusted. She still was, by Vestec himself, with all the creatures inhabiting him.

"Fascinating." She meant it. Her voice picked up in excitement."Astounding! I had no idea that several foreign minds could come together as one, to create a separate personality. I must wonder- if I stayed here long enough, would Vestec absorb me as well? I certainly hope not. Or perhaps I would accidentally contribute to him in some way? Perhaps I already have?..." Her voice trailed away, as it often does, and her gaze became the far-away stare of a daydreamer.

Corruption's disdainful voice filtered down. "I doubt it. He'd have to put conscious effort into capturing you. He's busy now, ignoring us. Though you may have contributed to him already. More if you want to expend power here. I don't think you realize what position of power you're in. You are inside the mind of the God of Chaos. The chief problem causer in Galbar. With enough power expent, you could nudge him in a direction of your choosing. Think about it. The Sands of Discord, Mountains of Violence, Sea of Emotion, Clouds of Corruption...and the temple of the Goddess of the Mind."

She felt Corruption's power in each syllable spoken in that smooth voice. He was tempting her. "I fully realize the power I hold in this realm. I could release you all, or strengthen your chains. I could create a representative of myself to work my will within Vestec, or cast down fury. I'm afraid I will do nothing of the sort, however. Do you count me as a menace, like yourself? I am a scientist, not a soldier. To change that which I study would defeat the purpose of studying it. Until I learn everything about Vestec- every thought, every emotion, every memory- then I will do nothing to harm or alter him. Anything that I do here to shift the balance, or lack thereof, will be entirely accidental. He is the principle object of my journey here."

She soared away from the Pit, seeking out the one aspect of Vestec she felt fundamentally connected to. Emotion. This would-be Goddess was different than the Transcendent Mother in many ways, certainly, but Emotion is also an aspect of the mind- one which Vulamera almost entirely lacks. She is cold and calculating, distant and divisive. Perhaps, however, if Vulamera could steal the Emotion away from Vestec's iron grip, then she could infuse the Blue One into herself, granting her much which she lacks.

No. She could not do it. Or, rather, she wouldn't. Oh, she wanted to desperately, but it would mean breaking her own code of non-influence. She would not become a hypocrite for the sake of Emotion, or anyone for that matter.

Like a stone, Vulamera plopped into the endless sea. Waves of feeling bombarded her from all sides: fear washed over her, shaking her to the bone with worry; sadness seeped into her eyes, running down her cheeks like tears; fury struck her in the stomach as if it were a hammer, making her spit up air and allowing the waters to fill her lungs. She fought to expel the living liquid from her body, only to find that she could not. It had taken up root inside her, and it was dragging her kicking, clawing body down deeper into the waters. At once, she knew what it must feel like to be a mortal: helpless to greater forces. The Shadow of Revelations was cast down from the surface to the immeasurable depths of Emotion's thoughts.

From the pinnacle to the pit she sunk, as she had in the Grave of Discord, until she gently came to rest at a rock-strewn seabed. She opened her weakened eyelids to discover that, directly in front of her, a coffin lay. Practically forgetting her divine powers in the grasp of this fearful world, she swam to it instead of hovered.

Once she arrived, however, she realized that it was hardly a coffin at all, though it may as well been one. Drowned beneath this horrid ocean was laying a rust-coated torture device: an iron maiden. It was mockingly shaped into the visage of a dying woman, but gazing into it's screaming mouth, Vulamera could spy the fair face of Emotion.

Emotion gave a slight twist of her mouth, almost approaching a smile, at the sight of Vulamera. "Hello, Sister Vulamera. You already know how Vestec came about. What more do you want? Do you want to hear how they pinned me down and forced their essences upon me, dragging me from the sweet abyss of death into this foul creation they call Vestec?" Rage shook the seas, sweeping through them like a hurricane. The cruel contraption shook with fury, but remained shut. "Or how I am doomed to be trapped inside here, until Vestec dies?"

Sorrow pressed on all sides. The seas rushed towards Emotion, attempting to crush the prison, to no avail. "Or maybe you are here for simple conversation? Corruption tries, but he is terribly predictable. 'Manipulate' this and 'Manipulate' that. Something, something, free ourselves through corruption." Hopeful joy spread throughout the sea, calming it. The waters rushed around Vulamera almost playfully, tossing her hair and clothing.

"So, Sister Vulamera, what is it? What do you want?"

"The answer to that question is always knowledge. Except for now. Because now, I... for the first time since our birth, I don't know what I want. Although, it is most likely that I came here because of my clear sympathy for you. Indeed, of all the aspects of Vestec, you are the one who least belongs here. I would set you free..." She extended a hand to the lid of her Iron Maiden.

The ocean was suddenly still as a mirror. It seemed as if the ocean itself was holding its breath with Emotion as she watched the hand approaching her lid.

"...but it would be against my nature to interfere..." Vulamera's fingers possessed a will all their own, wrapping themselves around the cold metal of the prison's handle. Even under the water, that cage felt as heavy and as unbreakable as Galbar itself.

A tremble went through sea, anticipation and hope streaming through.

"...with a mind not my own..." The Transcendent Mother pulled ever so lightly on the handle. The lid of the Maiden squeaked, rattled and eased forward by a hair's breadth.

Carefully, ever so carefully, water began to rush in through the gap, attempting to widen it. Emotion pressed her hand against the other side, beginning to push.

But then the Curious One stopped. Coming to her senses, she slammed the door shut without a second to spare. "I cannot. I am truly sorry. Forgive me, sister. You will be free someday, and on that bright day, please bear me no ill will." Tears welled up in Vulamera's eyes, causing her to look back towards the surface. Forcing her eyes to be cleared, she shot for the air above like a cannon. She did not dare to look back.

A scream of pure rage and despair tore through the ocean, turning the placid waters into a raging storm. It rose up and tried to smash the Goddess of the Mind into the sea, but Vulamera was just out of reach. "Your apologies are useless lies! You are not the one trapped in this hell! You are not the one who had freedom dangled before her only to be yanked away!"

Vulamera escaped the attacks, but felt no pride in doing so. This was the first time she felt guilt and possibly the only time she would.

Corruption chuckled, following Vulamera. "My, my, Goddess of the Mind. I didn't think you were that cruel."

"I will not dispute that, for it is true.", she spoke to Corruption. "Know this, though, all of you- I never intended to taunt her so. To change Vestec from the inside-out is against every belief that I hold dear. I simply let my emotions- ironically- gain control of me for a moment. My objectivity faltered, so that I almost made the mistake of letter her loose before her time. I am truly sorry, Emotion. I should not have teased you. If you will hate me, so be it. I deserve your hatred."

Corruption opened his mouth to reply, as Emotion spewed curses and Discord laughed, only to close it and frown. "What is that fool up to now?" He seemed to stare off in the distance, watching something that Vulamera couldn't see. "Why are you...Goddess of the Mind, perhaps you can make sense of this." He gestured with a hand, and the clouds formed in front of Vulamera, providing a window into the world of Galbar. Vestec was flying around, capturing various creatures in a ball of pure chaos energy.

One of the wisps watching him were taken. A Hain and the Ashling about to kill it were captured. A fibreling tried to run, only to be sucked into the ball. A Herakati attempted to attack Vestec, only to land inside the ball. A White Giant was forcibly beaten down into it. A Djinni was drawn in, gust of wind by gust of wind. A piece of Teknall's mountains were thrown in. One of Mammon's worms were taken. Many of Slough's accidental lifeforms were added, until finally Vestec was floating above the world with his ball of chaos and lifeforms and essence. "I think that's...everything!"

"Vestec himself is a fusion of many conflicting components. Would it not stand to reason that what he creates follows that same pattern? Judging from these pieces, he plans on creating a semi-living creature, formed partially from organic and partially from inorganic material. Most likely kept alive by magic, because I highly doubt that any combination of those bits could truly live on it's own. But all of this is just a guess."

The God of Chaos focused, putting his power into the ball and molding it into the four lifeforms of the same race he desired. When the first of the Rovaick were created, he darted towards the center of Teknall's Mountains, clearing out a hollow and dropping the first of the Rovaick there. "Have fun dearies." With that, he disappeared and left the Rovaick to their own devices.

"I'm glad to know my prediction was correct, and I'm even more glad to see he's created what appears to be a sentient, or semi-sentient, lifeform! I must examine them in great detail, when I leave this nonsensical land."

Vulamera, being excited by the creation of Rovaick, teleported to the Mountains of Violence.

Vulamera landed in a valley. Rock and shattered rubble was strewn everywhere, as if something had attacked the very mountains themselves in a brutal rage. The Curious One might have been terrified, had she possessed the emotional range to be. A man was chained to the ground by thin rusty chains around his wrists, huffing in exhaustion and futile rage. He suddenly looked up as the Goddess approached. His body seemed to be constantly covered in a layer of blood, constantly dripping onto the ground, his eyes were blindfolded, and he sniffed. "Goddess of Meddling, what brings you to me..." He growled, before trailing off.

"I have come at the offer of Vestec, to expl-"

Her polite words were cut short as Violence took another sniff, and his body went ridged with rage. "You reek of the whore Emotion's scent! You released her! You broke the pattern!" He gave a howl of fury, yanking at his rusted chains.

In shock, Vulamera's eyes seemed to grow many times their normal size. "No! You misunderstand!"

The chains snapped and he lashed out in Vulamera's direction, a wave of pure violence heading towards her and carrying rubble with it.

The 'Goddess of Meddling' just barely managed to hold on to her wits as that foul beast-of-a-divine flung his very domain at her in an inept fit of rage. Unfortunately for her, wits are scarcely enough when not coupled with agility or strength. The wave of violence barreled on, striking Vulamera like a cannonshot. She tried, but couldn't even hold her balance. Pain lighting every inch of her body, she fell to the floor of the valley in a crumpled heap. A scream of fire issued from her lips.

Having been hit with a bit of his own divine being, the essence of violence began to mix itself deep within the Goddess of Intelligence, reaching itself down at her soul. It filled her with a rage- a passion for bloody vengeance that she never before could, never should, feel. Her rotted body reformed itself into another shape entirely. Six smooth white wings sprouted from her back, each flawlessly etched like paper with holy knowledge that a lumbering ape like Violence could never comprehend. She stood up on her own feet again, and showed that she was grown above twelve feet tall. A sword made from blue flames appeared in place of the quill, while her eyes split into six narrow slits of a matching colour.

Encasing those piercing eyes was an exoskeletal, triangular and featureless face, without a mouth or any more detail than a blank mask. Her thin body, also, had lost all signs of age or humanity. It was as distorted, hard and shady-grey as smithed iron. She wore no clothes, because her skin already resembled a twisted and melted suit of armour.

All around her, translucent orange triangles would appear at odd angles just briefly, then vanish. They incased magical runes that matched the symbols adorning her wings.

"I judge you now, Child, her voice was an insectoid chorus of deep but female tones, "and find that you are guilty, as am I. I have erred, broken my own code and inadvertently caused your release, so now I shall repair my damage by imprisoning you once again. Your resistance is your defeat."

Vulamera did not hesitate. She lifted her blade high into the air, efficiently slicing it down for the enemy's skull. If he did not defend himself, Violence was soon to be carved in two.

Violence reached up and caught the blade in his own hand, fresh blood oozed from his palm, mingling with the blood already on his skin, but aside from a snarl, Violence showed no reaction. "Foolish whore! You are in my domain, fighting me on my ground!" His fingers tightened around the blade, seeking to keep it there, while his other hand grew bloodred claws and lashed out at her stomach, seeking to disembowel her.

The strange creature that was now Vulamera did not avoid the attack. She did not even attempt to. Violence's claw ripped right into her metallic stomach, letting loose a gelatinous red-yellow substance. Then... she laughed. It was not a natural laugh, nor even the forced laugh Vulamera typically allows. This was a cold and hateful chuckle, dripping with malice. "Violence." Her voice shifted to a singular whisper. "This is not your territory. Do you know who I am and where you are, or are you so selfish as to have never taken note? This is a Mind, child. This is my domain. This is your prison." To confirm her words, the gelatinous liquid hardened around the intruding claw, to hold it in place.

Violence merely snarled in reaction, shifting the direction of his arm and pushing forward to do more damage.

Vulamera knew that what she was about to do was a rushed decision, knew that she was allowing this beast to take away her devotion to logic, and she knew that it was too late to stop now. Gripping him on the shoulder with her free hand, she looked past the blindfold and into his eyes with a resolved stare. In a burst of power, she entered the mind of Violence, so that she may cripple him from the inside.

The battle never ceased, but they both stood still as ice. Every personality imprisoned with Vestec- and indeed the God of Chaos himself- could clearly feel the mental struggle between them. Many moments passed like this. The whole of that disturbed plane seemed to be focused on the two wrestling for internal dominance.

The Sands of Discord swirled in an agitated storm, upset at the war going on so close to him. The Clouds of Corruption thundered in anger, as he witnessed his best chance at freeing himself getting impaled. The Seas of Emotion swirled in confusion. On the one hand, she hated Violence. But on the other, she hated Vulamera for the lies.

Then the silence shattered like glass. Vulamera grunted in pain. Neither one was able to defeat the other, and both were left injured.

Her head radiated with voices as before, each whispering or yelling or commanding in a million different ways. All reasonable thoughts abandoned their Goddess in her panic, leaving her to wallow in insanity. She was confused. She was scared.

Out in the physical reality, that insect drone started up again while a thick mist spread itself over the environment, giving clear warning to Vulamera's arrival. Only this time, something clearly tainted it. Just as any skilled cook could easily identify an overripe ingredient by the slightly "off" scent, a certain untraceable corruption hung in the mist. Instead of the grey, rainy colour that normally accompanied the Goddess's fog, the mist came as a rotten black, and the firefly-lights all a haunting blue.

The Goddess of Mind solidified before the God of Chaos, still in her winged form, with a gaping hole ripped into her flesh. She was gasping for air, each breath a slow rattle. "Help...", she stared at him, not expecting any aid but knowing that he was her only option.

She fell to her knees. The chaotic essence of Violence and Vestec was destroying her from the inside. With another Goddess, it may have simply been absorbed into them. Vulamera, however, was too lawful to be changed unwillingly, so thus the chaos became a curse that would slowly rot her if she did not receive a cure.

"My my." Vestec giggled as Vulamera suddenly appeared in front of him. He caught her as the Goddess began to crumple, gently laying her on the ground. His colors pulses slowly as he examined the damage done to her.

Herds of chaotic voices trampled within her. Her insanity was growing by the minute: her mind was dying. For an entity like Vulamera, loss of sanity had the potential to be fatal.
"...knowledge is unachievable...", spoke one in a harsh whisper.
"...You are no beacon of wisdom, you are a flickering flame..." This came as a masculine, deep-throated shout.
"Pathetic."
"Consort of Chaos, Friend to Tricksters."
The one that hurt her most of all: "Liar." Memories of Emotion punctuated the accusation. Bringing the Blue One so close to freedom, only to steal it away in an instant- was that not a lie on its own?

Shaking her head, she accepted the reality that Vestec would not heal her in the least bit. Even if he wanted to, if he felt a modicum of mercy for the afflicted, Evil cannot drive out Evil. He cannot heal her of himself.

Tsk. Fighting Violence like that. A foolish decision for one who prides herself on logic. Not uncommendable. It was still brave. Just foolish. "I cannot heal you, I'm afraid. You're fighting yourself. You cannot resist chaos, and you cannot purge it. It is in everyone, it is what we were born from. You may have subdued it, but now it's too powerful. Now, you have to come to terms with it."

She grunted. "No. I will not allow myself to be defeated by this. I am stronger, I am smarter, than to fall to a tiny bit of corruption."

He removed her hands from covering her wounds. "He did do a nasty bit of work on you, didn't he?" Vestec commented, casually, as he layed a hand down on her wound. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't malicious either. A small snort escaped him. "Tiny bit? You're disembowled and bleeding all over Galbar's surface. I'm afraid to see what a large bit is to you." His hands shifted slightly,covering more of the wound. "I can bring the Chaos in you to balance. You'll never be free of it, but you won't die either. However. You have to let me in to bring it to balance. Deeper than the mind. You have to let me into your essence. Your soul. It is your choice, Vulamera. Let me in and allow me to bring balance, or die."

A maddening howl-of-a-laugh sounded from her to the Firewind Desert. "You're what a large bit looks like!" She giggled, which gradually grew into another howl. "Huh. I am starting to sound insane. And no, I will not let you "balance" me. I do not dislike you, Vestec, but I cannot trust a being of pure Chaos. I know that you are telling me the truth, friend, and I know that you intend fully on helping me- I have been within your mind, afterall- but I would not allow even one with the best of intentions to access my soul. Do not fear, however. I have a plan. I always have a plan!" The Goddess was only mildly aware of how arrogant her words were.

She raised her blood-dripping claws into the air. The way she spun them wildly might have reminded one of a tribal chieftain preforming a ritual. Red light coated her claws, and it grew brighter by the second.

Then with a truly tormented gaze in her eyes, she forced her hands down into the desert, burying them feet into Zephyrion's domain. The sand literally boiled up like water. "Forgive me, Zephyrion, Lord of Change." It took every ounce of her will to speak coherently as the Chaos pumped in her veins. "If I do not transfer this energy to another host, I will surely die. We have been enemies in the past, this much can be refuted by neither you nor me, though I do honestly wish that you would hope for no death upon me. Vestec has infected me. I must cure myself. Take what happens now as a gift to your creation- as a testemant to the powers of Chaos, Change and Mind linked together. Linked together. Linked together. Linked together." The Chaos quickly consuming Vulamera was unable to break itself from those last two words. Her speech moved faster with each repetition, so soon it blurred together and she was consumed with only that thought: link together.

So link together she did. Her Intelligence merged seamlessly into the environment of heat and the Chaos of Vestec. Together, the intense elements gave birth to life. The bubbling sand became animated, faces drawing making themselves from dust, limbs and legs molding out of the earth. The powerful impression of the humanoid divines around them pushed their shapes onto the developing life. These creatures became human-like, with double arms and legs, two ears, a mouth... and three eyes. Two were humanoid, typical ocular organs containing black pupils orbited by red irises.

Levitating suspiciously above and between them, however, was a paranoid eye of deep blue. It's startling sapphire shades felt out of place in this world of sand-tan and sky-grey. This was the Mark of Vulamera: a psionic eye that would enable its wielder to gaze beyond the physical world and into the mental, that their Goddess of Mind so often favored. It was not truly telepathic in nature, certainly- this species would not read the thoughts of their enemies- but it allowed her creations to see the psionic, semi-magical energy that always resulted from the art of telepathy. A useful tool.

Vulamera struggled to pull her hands from the sand. She did not free herself until a few moments of difficulty had passed.

Now, able to rear up to her grand full height, the three sapphire eyes of Vulamera pridefully surveyed her unwanted spawns.

More in sync with the desert color scheme was their skin, she noted. It was two-toned. Not spotted or stripped, but two-toned, partially bloody red and partially nighttime black. She noticed one of the creatures was split almost right down the middle, black on one side and red on the other, while a nearby brother was painted with angular, geometric patterns. Both brothers had a five-feet-and-several-inches, very smooth body from the head to their ankles, rough around their hands plus feet, and hairy on the head.

Vestec giggled as he listened to Vulamera. "We all need to let go and go a little...mad, once in a while." He watched, his colors pulsing excitedly, as Vulamera used the sands and her own control to manipulate the Chaos inside of her to create someting...new.

As he felt Vulamera healing herself, he stood and examined these new creatures, idly walking around them. "Interesting. I am taking a portion of them, with a portion of the Hain, Elementals, Rovaick, and portions of whatever else has been created while we've been so delightfully busy, with me to the Shattered Plains. I have plans for such fun in the future..." He giggled mischeiviously. "You'll see, Vulamera dear. You'll see."

"Wherever you take them, Vestec, promise me something. Do not let them forget me. I do not truly approve of them, but I see potential. They are at least as intelligent as any other race thus far, of that I am certain, and they are far more clever and cunning. I can see into their minds, and in those minds I find a natural tendency for creativity, expression, cunning, cleverness and lies." She ran her hand almost tenderly across one the skull of the closest creature to her. It recoiled slightly, a stare of fear in its eyes, but did not resist. Even a youngling to this world new the presence of its God. "They will forever remain a part of my domain, as well as yours. Do not let them forget."

"They won't my dear. They won't forget you at all." Vestec replied cheerfully. "I'll make sure you don't forget them either. Indeed. It'll be difficult to."

Vulamera's eyes shot daggers at him. She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. An unfamiliar pain was rising in her torso, moving up to her chest, then finally consuming her entirety.

Her eyes snapped shut, to focus mental energy. She moved her hands along her stomach, psychically searching for any source of lingering corruption. She found one. The sensation is nigh-impossible to describe, but suffice to say that a strange source of power was "knotted up" in her stomach. It was not of her, nor of Vestec. Foreign. It was reminiscent of the Emotion's tantalizing temptations, but mingled closely with another domain...

Her eyes shot open. They were suddenly both blood-shot. The realization had come to her. This new power was hers, was Vestec's. The remaining strands of inner Chaos had latched on to her soul, accidentally conjoining both Vulamera and Vestec into one new being.

It was a child. It was a Demigod. It was her son.

"No!" She did not shout at any particular thing, but rather at the universe itself for levying this unbearable fate on to her weak shoulders. The desperation radiating from her frightened the new species into scattering away. They were right to do so.

Gathering up yet more might into her claws, she prepared to jab her stomach open. She would kill this unholy bastard before it had a chance to reach maturity. A divine abortion.

A new age of dreams had dawned upon Galbar. Countless smart creatures were now inhabiting all corners of this land, their minds continuously thinking and planning, and each time said plan was out of reach a dream was born. The Hain were the most numerous and active dreamers, their energy flowing from the madness of Dotty to the uncanny realism of Simulacrums. Good hunts, bad hunts, vile creatures, an evil porcelain man who betrayed their sons, the rotting deer walking in the distance, the sounds of nature, the sounds of the crackling skin of the so attractive Reed-Hair that Frog-Foot one day expected to have as a wife.

Of the older creatures, White Giants' imagination was still as sterile as it was eons ago, no more than an oversized doll. Ashlings, however, those were always adapting and assimilating, and between those, dreams slowly started to form in a few minds. Ashling dreams were odd, you would expect them to be chaotic but usually they manifested in the upper tower, where there was always enough order for them to defile. In comparison, Niciel's angels were somewhat boring fantasists, they were created in a peaceful land of conformity and that showed a lot.

For Ilunabar's surprise, some dreams were in waves beyond her access, upper creatures like heroes and demigods were resistant to her interference, she could broadcast ideas into their dreams, but watching their nocturnal illusions was beyond her reach, for now. Due to that, she became accustomed to ignoring some of the odd flows of energy, always expecting it to be from another creature resistant to her gaze, one of these energies, however, became too intense to be from a single being, and it was hard to believe someone had created a horde of heroes.

What she saw in that flow was unexpected, it was a totally alien dream to Galbar, the creatures were wrong, the minds were wrong, no roots in any of the creations of the Galbarish Gods. She would spend a long time watching the dreams, trying to understand who they were and what was happening. In many of these dreams she saw a girl, a beautiful girl who liked songs and beauty, and every dream, be it from a man or woman, always saw her as an ideal person of infinite and all-reaching love. This only made the goddess more curious, after all, there was someone out there doing her work, and nobody could just go and take her job like that.

With time, Ilunabar started to figure out motifs and archetypes between the imaginations of most creatures, including the mysterious dreamers, for example, Niciel's angels were very similar to some sort of odd light creature that existed in their dreams, their desires didn't differentiate so much from the Hain either, though the mysterious ones were far more obsessive about their soft skin... Their bodies! The Muse noticed that their bodies were also part of an archetype, something that most gods based their creations on. Something that was in the god's mind since the pre-creational void as if it was an old pattern from universes long gone, yet here they were, perfect to their model just like the flowers that Meimu created when she had her little purist tantrums.

Logos? Could it be? It had been so long since she last saw him, would it truly be possible for him to create all this without his siblings? And it was him, what should Ilunabar do? Should she search for this arcadia of pure designs? Should she reveal the location to her siblings just to spite the god of order... "No, that would be a waste, Galbar is already messy enough, sometimes purity can be relieving" Either way, that was merely one possibility, other reasons could exist, other siblings could create, perhaps Slough's slime flew across the skies and reached a distant planet... What a mystery those radical dreamers brought.

Brooding about the oddity flowing through Raka, The Muse almost didn't catch sight of an unusual stream of nightmares, as if a sudden burst of fear had erupted in Galbar. Upon inspection, those dreams were quite primal and mostly moved by a newfound fear of Jvan's creatures, even the smallest fractal caused fear and surfaces with many holes would be as terrifying for the Hain as the sight of a snake or a charging Heraktati. Someone had messed up the minds of the creatures, another mystery for sure, but this one was beyond her reach, she could only watch the waves that the brain made on dreams, anything beyond was Vulamera's job.

And then she noticed something within her own domain but not about dreams, her little pupil Meimu was searching for her, it had been a long while since they last met, and the goddess of Beauty was more than curious to see what had been born.

Out of the Raka and back into Galbar, Ilunabar summoned Meimu to her side in the Celestial Citadel. Oh, the little thing had so many complaints, Meimu was a bit confused, always standing between annoying silence and excessive dramatics. She kept talking and complaining about all sorts of issues, the fields which Ilunabar and Reathos touched had died, the life-giving deer had avoided her so far, there was this odd person smashing beasts and an annoying amount of giant ants eating her flowers away.

"Dear heart, I created you to work with those things, furthermore, I see no need to interfere with those problems. Just tell me, the flowers I commissioned, how are they faring?"

"Mostly complete, I just feel like the concept needs one final thrust before becoming concrete. But do you truly think the gods needs those flowers? I do not believe they are worthy of that beauty"

"You are becoming a bit silly, my sweet little bird, and that makes me want to take some action. I will change a bit of my plan towards these flowers and you."

Meimu gasped, already sensing her master brewing some plan to "teach" her, whatever it was, she was already expecting yet another long and tiring chore.

(4 Might spent to level up)

---

Meimu

The Maiden of the flowers. The White Rose.

Might: 5
Free Point: 1

"If you're going to Galbar, be sure to wear flowers in your hair"

"Oh, how could such misfortune fall upon me? Thousands of years of work and countless flowers sacrificed for nothing" It was hard for Meimu to understand why Ilunabar took such an odd path, as far as she knew her only mission was to deal with flowers in a practical way so Ilunabar could keep her energy and mind focused on more urgent tasks, yet here she was, about to use Ilunabar's energy across the face of Galbar.

Originally the plan was simple, create some flowers and then Ilunabar would sow them across the land. Now however Meimu was tasked with spreading those herself, and she was not even allowed to fly to her destinations. Furthermore, Ilunabar gave her a ring imbued with the power to change the color and nature of the plants, supposedly Meimu was meant to use the ring to better the design of each flower should she found it necessary.

"But how will I know if it is necessary or not? How bothersome" So far she had only done works under direct orders of her master, to suddenly have so much freedom over her project was somewhat intoxicating, as if she was drowning in a sea of endless possibilities.

Either way, it made no sense to stand there complaining, the sooner she crossed Galbar the sooner she would be free from this odd chore.

Her first stop were the Nice Mountains. Initially, she had made a flower called Poppy while in the forests they would be usually red or yellow the ones Meimu prepared for Niciel would always be white or blue. But that apparently wasn't enough, she had to come up with something more for these flowers.

"Maybe... What if I imbued these flowers with a calming substance? Something that could ease pain from the infirm?"

And so she did. After that, the next god was Toun, her original plan involved simple clusters of white flowers. But again, it needed to be something more. What could she add from Toun into the flower?

"Maybe something that can only be touched by the hard skin of the Hain"

One day humans would call that plant Hogweed, for any fleshy being that touched the flower would feel an acute pain that would leave permanent scars. Hain, however, would probably find it pretty, maybe call it a pretty name too. That ended her work on the valley.

She already knew what she was going to make for Zephyrion, it was a descendant from the Lily Pad, this one, however, was light enough to fly across the skies. Their flowers were a vine full of foxglove-like flowers, the big difference being the fact that as the wind blew through them a chime sound would be made. Young wind elementals would love to play with the plant.

For Ull'Yang, she kept her original design. "It took me so much time to make these peculiar flowers, they are perfect as they are," she said, looking at the Sunflower seeds she got. Then it crossed her mind that maybe she could make a subspecies, a fiery red version of the flower that would not follow the near sun but a distant one instead, patiently waiting for the day its light finally touched Galbar.

Tundras... The Snowbelle had already done her work here. "It hides in the snow, it defies death, it struggles to live but it manages to go on" that was all she could think for Reathos and Varkalon.

"But it would be quite rude to give the same flower to two different gods..."

It took her a while but she had an idea, many plants were able to move in reaction to something touching them, most of them were vines, but what if she changed it? She designed a flower that would close like a mouth when little insects touched it. "This one is more Reathos-like," Meimu said with pride.

Creating a flower for slough would be silly, it was like giving bread to a baker, she had a project for the goddess but it would require far more time. Mammon and Belruarc were unknown to her, so she didn't imbue the flowers she made with special powers, but the gods would still receive their flowers, Thornapple for Mammon and a bright green variant of the Forget-Me-Not for Belruarc.

The lavender was initially created as a gift for Vulamera. "But sincerely, there is no way she will like such a simple idea" sighed Meimu. Another god that would require some work. Eventually, she came up with this odd idea, it wouldn't be a flower but it would be a much more interesting deal. The Guarana plant would bear eye-like fruits which contained more of the mind boosting substance called caffeine than actual coffee.

"And what should I do for Vestec?" it was hard to think of a plant that could thrive in the chaotic plains. She then remembered Ilunabar's words and how she described the thorns of a Rose. She created a new brand of violent flowers, they would invade the plains with their dark leaves and iron like thorns, and sometimes, they would bloom in gorgeous crimson flowers. It was an act of defiance, but that was exactly what made it reflect Vestec in its design.

To Astarte, she gifted a different kind of Morning Glory, this one would store energy all day and then bloom in a luminescent blue color in the night. These plants would always follow the magical flow of the planet and the goddess.

To Kyre, she had made the Thistle and its complicated design full of edges and spiky colors. This one she felt like it was perfect as it was originally designed.

Getting into Teknall's domain was hard, as she was bound to the ground and would often have to climb all of those mountains, by this point however she was already excited to do these things, creating things inspired by the gods and which could in exchange inspire others was exciting.

"Many plants respond to the slightest change of minerals on the earth. Expanding upon that would be the perfect gift. A plant that would change color due to the minerals down it. Oh! Another exciting idea would be to make it react to the Urtelem's mood!"

Vowzra, the deity of time, the most fitting idea Meimu could think was to create a plant that perfectly showed the changes of the year, it also needed to be pretty, yet also ephemeral. And resiliency would add to the design. With all those ideas the Cherry Tree was created.

"Now for Jvan and Logos..." before she could finish her sentence the ring turned to simple stone and slowly dissolved in a cloud of dust. "Oh?" Asked the maiden of flowers, confused about the reason.

"That was enough dear heart. Come meet me in the northern Tundra"

Meimu pouted, a long time ago this would all feel like a chore but now that she learned how colorful the world could be it suddenly became far more fun to create flowers. There was still so much beauty in the other god's works to bloom.

"Unfortunate, but if she is calling me it must be important" she sighed.

(1 Might Spent to make the Ring of Blooming. Which was later destroyed)

---

Ilunabar

The Muse. Weaver of Dreams

Might: 4
Free Point: 1

"From the Ashes"

The ring of chaos stones formed by the exploded moon had always fascinated Ilunabar. The way the encrusted chaos reflected light was really pleasing to the eyes as long as you could follow the changes, for a mortal it would probably just end in a seizure, it would be interesting to create a similar effect that would be more compatible with mortal eyes. The recent mystery of the radical dreamers finally gave Ilunabar the perfect excuse to waste her power on one of the designs she considered somewhat superfluous.

She gazed upon the northern sky, it was already a sight to see with the many moons, the ring, and the endless stars, yet those features were shared by all of the places in Galbar, and Ilunabar's idea would be unique to the distant skies beyond the wastelands and tundras. With a clap of The Muse's hands, the sky exploded in waves of colors, similar to the ones found in the Raka and not much different from the light reflected from the chaos ring, except this one was a slow and patient dance that all mortals would see. That is, if they were able to reach the north.

The lights were born from some of the crystals that were formed in the Raka, even a pinch of them was enough to light the Galbarish Sky, and thankfully so because the Muse didn't want to create a connection big enough for her siblings to exploit. In theory, they wouldn't be able to fare well in the Raka but this was one of those concepts that she never wanted to test practically.

Sometimes the dancing lights would travel south (or north, the lights would happen in the southern tundra too) and grace even the far skies of the Deepwoods. Another possible anomaly to the aurora was that rarely the images of a dream might slip into the waves of colors, so it wouldn't be uncommon for a skygazer to see odd objects in the sky, like ships, armies, persons or animals.

"Such a spectacle! The delicate veil of light with its shimmers and trembles will surely bring inspiration to many mortals" said Meimu, who just recently arrived.

"But I must ask, why did you stop my work? I could perhaps understand your objection to Logos but to Jvan?" she tapped her chin with one finger and made a confused face.

"Jvan is a fellow goddess of Beauty, it is best if I myself design something for her. Logos is a complicated case, as I do not know where he is. Though these lights might bring a few answers" answered Ilunabar

"How so?" Meimu tilted her head

"You will know when it is time. Now we have a more pressing issue, we need to hunt an ashling, preferably a corrupted Hain" explained the muse

"Well, not-so-long time I might have said to you that Ashlings are all repulsive. But even now, when I recognize their potential, I fail to see how we could use one for anything but the simplest of inspirations"

Ilunabar chuckled "Glass, that is what we are making today dear heart."

It was not particularly hard to find an Ashling, and thanks to Meimu it was quite easy to trap the thing. Born from a rose, the maiden of flower's violent side were her thorns, so when the corrupted created tried to touch the Avatar a burst of thorns was born and entrapped the thing. "You are fine, but do not get overconfident, this is a weak one with weak corruption" warned Ilunabar.

They took the entrapped thing all the way up to the Ironheart Ranges, more specifically, to a cavern near the volcano Ull'Yang had created. The heat was almost infernal, the thorns were quickly turned into charred wood and ashes, the Ashling, however, was more resistant and for a minute it thought it was free, but as soon as it took a step forward burning lime powder fell upon it, soon after, sodium carbonate taken from Trona rocks joined the mix, finally, molten quartz to add league.

"Oh no, why such exaggerated way to kill the thing? You could simply strike it or something" said Meimu, a bit away from the heat as she was obviously more sensible to heat than the goddess

"Oh worry not, it is still alive, at least for now, the Ashling is made to try to annex things. Right now the ashes are trying to eat the sodium, the lime, and the quartz, instead, however, they are just spreading themselves as I planned"

They waited a bit more, then Ilunabar raised the molten liquid with her power, she made a ball of it and flew off the cave with it and ultimately dived it down the cool shimmering sea. After the large cloud of steam that the contact created cleared away, Ilunabar raised the ball from the sea, now it was a beautiful mix of colorful ashes and glass.

"All that for this huh?" Said the unimpressed Meimu, it was a nice diversion but it would never be as pretty as her flowers.

"Oh no no, this is just a small prototype, a guide stone if I may say. Now if you excuse me..."

Ilunabar concentrated her power for a few seconds and then released all of it against the glass in the form of a beam of light. Colorful rays of light spammed across the sea and the skies with an intensity that no mortal lighthouse would ever reach. The ball of glass turned into a sphere of shimmering silver lights with a little shadowy form inside. Soon, however, the form started to take shape, legs, arms and, of course, fancy clothes. Meimu frowned, Ilunabar smiled and Notte took her first breath.



"Che, why the surprised faces? Are you perhaps hypnotized by my dazzling beauty?" jested Notte

Meimu already hated her "Such a show-off! Why would master create such person! This is all you can get when you use poor quality materials" she thought

"Notte, Meimu," commanded Ilunabar "The aurora has already showed results, this will be a long and complex dance, so I hope you two are ready"

"Ha! Of course, I am ready, should the music be Largo or Presto, I will dance con brio"

"My willingness to partake in the arts is infinite like the stars in the sky, I will..."

"You know there is a finite amount of starts right?" intervened Notte

"Does infinite as your rudeness and savagery sound any better?" questioned Meimu

(2 might used to create a second avatar, Notte)
(1 might used to create the Aurora)

---

"So. How is sister doing?" Asked Bird-Watcher

"Still bad. Very bad. Odd dreams in her head" Answered Quick-Feet

"Maybe she eats bad fruit from the forest?"

"Wise man is unsure, wise man is confused like me and you"

Awkwardly the conversation between the two Hain stopped into a sad silence, River Jewel was such a happy person, it was sad to see her in that situation.

Meanwhile, in their house, the eldest and wisest Hain had trouble dealing with the girl "Haye! Bad Spirits LEAVE" He jumped waving his staff "Haye! LEAVE Go Back To The Evil Ring In The Sky!" no matter how much he chanted the infirm never seemed to go back to their time. He was almost giving up, but one last idea crossed his mind.

"Thunder Sand!" he yelled the name across the village and soon received an answer. Thunder Sand was a legend between these Hain, a long time ago she was struck by a lightning while fishing on a beach, the sand around her became shiny and metallic and when polished one could see their own face in it. "Bring Sky Stone, Power of Gods in it, Might Awake River Jewel," he said.

Now the room was a bit crowded, slowly the shaman approached the girl and did similar chantings. This time, to everyone's surprise, it worked, not because of the power of thunder, but a simple reaction to the mirror reflection.

"AH!" Yelled River Jewel suddenly jumping up her bed "I See Color That is not Dull! I see! I see!" everyone started asking her questions but she did not care "Colors From Different World. Forbidden Colors. The Color of Forgetting. The Color of Happiness. The Color of The Sound. The Color of The Fire. The Colors that Can Be Seen Only Under The Sea and Under The Darkness! Odd Colors, Far More Than Those Here" annoyed with the girl staring only at the rod and ignoring everything else the elder tried to struggled, River Jewel struggled back and the mirror ended up shattering on the ground.

"AYEEEEH" the feeble minded Hain yelled "Vile Man! Vile Man! I was Almost Seeing it!" no amount of talking could bring sense to the girl, her brothers tried to seize her but she was fleet-footed enough to dodge and leave the hut. Looking up to the distant horizon she saw a thing. "North! North! In The North!" she said in a mad tune. "Hahaha! To The North! To The Sparkly Waves!" she sprinted out of the village, many people following her, trying to stop this madness.

In a nearby grove where many fireflies dance, two ladies watched the sad scene.

"Was this truly necessary? No mortal can deal with colors like Cosmogone, Myried, Irrigo and others. They are lightwaves far beyond what any being should be able to see" complained Meimu

"Sad, but it's her fault, what can we do? Our lady master needed to see how much she could influence dreams and how much power she could put in them. It's up to the mortal to resist to the things beyond" answered Notte.

"Still, what a repugnant spectacle, maybe I should plant some flowers in the village?"

"Tsk, do you think colorful leaves will soothe the pain of seeing a mad sibling?"

Meimu sighed.

---

The young couple would not usually stray away from the tribe, but they could not ignore the odd dreams anymore, they had already learned that indeed they would meet each other in the night. But could the cavern they would dream about indeed lead to the arcadian paradise they saw?

Small steps echoed through the cave until they finally reached a grotto full of deep blue quartz. "Look my darling, the crystal! This should be the way no?" she said, pointing with the torch. They faced the natural dim mirror and saw their faint reflection, suddenly they felt sleepy and hands pushed them from behind. They crossed a tourbillion of lights and feelings, something that would be maddening to any aware mortal, but they were soothed by an odd aroma and by the time they reached Galbar the couple was in a deep slumber.

"With these we have 8," said Notte to Meimu.

"Any other tonight?" Answered the flower maiden.

"I believe not. No. Uh, well Maybe? There was, at least, one more guy probably that could arrive, it is hard to predict Humans you know?"

"We really cannot count on you for any task" sighed Meimu

Notte was not even angered, she was straight out hurt, this had been such a long plan, generations of persons were maddened by dreams that led them to caves until finally one stone suitable for the Mirrory, a link between Arcon and Galbar discrete enough to not immediately warn Logos, was found. Notte did all that, Meimu only made flowers that make people sleepy, the conceited little thing!

"Che! The strepitoso Flower girl should stop with all that pride or the song of her life might get in a lacrimoso mood" she thought

Nobody came that night, it had been six days already, around 58 humans had fallen into the trap and were kidnaped into Galbar. Meimu and Notte lead them to a village formed nearby, and the Mesa where they were was somewhat safe from all the dangers of this land.

"Why is our lady master so crazy about these person things?" asked Notte

"Look at us, at our bodies, we follow similar patterns. Apparently Logos was the only god that dared to make such creature while others just played around the idea"

The operation continued, more humans were smuggled into Galbar, and this would be the last night they did this, as Ilunabar wanted to avoid anyone noticing this, after all, there was much more she wanted to explore in Arcon, however right now she did not have the means or power to do so. She originally found out the location of the planet thanks to the aurora, when it happened in Galbar it also manifested with the dream energy in Arcon for a single day. She wondered if Logos would get to know about that, if he would think she had influenced the planet or if he would think it was just a natural flow of dreams, one of the few things beyond his all reaching logic.

Five more humans were grabbed trough the glass. Notte was ready to close the portal, as she always did, but she noticed something, Meimu had yet to return. The relation between the two made the night sky singer to immediately doubt the sanity of her sister and jump into the portal.

"Meimu, where are you?" she asked, but no answer. There was only one way out, though, so it was easy to track her. She was outside, on the border between the forest and the cave, planting some flower no less. "MEIMU!" Notte grabbed the girl by the collar of her dress and dragged her inside

"Let me go you brute! Who do you think you are!" her pleas were ignored as Notte struggled with her until they both were across the portal.

Back into Galbar Notte released her smaller and thin framed sister. "What was that?" she indignantly protested.

"Fuchsia" Meimu answered

"What is that!?"

"Logos' flower, I designed it, the color is one of the few out of the mortal spectrum of light and" her phrase was suddenly stopped by a slap to the face by the outraged Notte

"You went outside of the cave for a mere flower? This was not on our mission!"

With a hand on the cheek where she was hit, Meimu answered "It was always my order! An old order is still an order, I do not care if our lady master has called it off, I made the flower, I want to share it" and she added more to the answer with a slap

"That is it flower girl, I'm going to stomp your little petals"

"Your empty threats do not scare me, if I must fight, I will fight, for my quest is the good quest and it brings the best beauty"

"Do you even hear what you babble? Did you eat one of the odd mushrooms from the Deepwood?"

And so the "glorious" arrival of humans became a fight of hair grabbing and slaps between sisters, and the humans, who were now already waking up to the scene, would tell stories about this, with some liberties, of course, making it less of a childish fight and more about the maiden of the day fighting the lady of the night in some sort of epic combat. Generations after the first and confused settlers some humans would firmly believe that to this day the two still fight, and that is why there are day and night.

(1 might spent on creating Mirrory)

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



Humans were a silly bunch in Notte's opinion, and that is why she liked them so much, perhaps even more than the Hain. Meimu was always angry complaining to Ilunabar that "They get the meaning of flowers completely wrong! Dahlia is elegance, not sweetness! Hibiscus is exotic beauty not the scent of summer! And I will not even get started on the white lilies"

They were somewhat subversive to the ideas the gods had, this created some nice stories. Notte particularly found cute that in Arcon they dreamed about Galbar as a distant wonderland, once they were through the looking glass however and the harsh reality bites them the stories immediately changed to how they foolishly left the paradise. The Hain had similar stories, but only Humans dreamed of going back to the place and to lady Elysium's warm embrace, and even that was a bit confused by now, some human groups would call the whole arcadia Elysium and would say that in death the worthy ones would go back to that lost paradise.

"Speaking of Elysium, my first delivery is here"

She had two drawings to deliver, the first one was a picture of Elysium drawn by Ilunabar herself. She even used some of the beyond-colors to properly represent her, she expected the heroic being to be able to see colors like Havenic and Katali whose simple concept would make mortals mad.

Between the shadows of the night, Notte walked quietly and placed the glowing portrait in the path of the beauty obsessed hero Allure. Love or jealousy, as long as the emotion helped to create a story the muse would be happy.

She did not stay to watch the event, however, as she was still not as discrete as she wanted. Startling the hero would be the worst case scenario. So she left for her next destination

She walked across the shores of the Fractal Sea until she found her master's sister, Jvan. "Greetings, I'm an envoy of Ilunabar," she said to the engineer "It has come to our lady master's attention that the Hain have suddenly started to irrationally fear your creations. For that, she wanted to warn you that a new group of sentient creatures has recently arrived and they do not share the Jvanphobia with the other beings" she brought up a map of the many human villages across Galbar. "I can also bring some to here if that would please you. This is a gift, but Ilunabar also has a request, she has interest in all materials that can be used to craft art, and you, uh, have some exotic kind of fibers no? Could you possibly make a tree or crop out of those?"

Ull'Yang was sitting cross-legged on top of a small mountain peak when he spotted five little silvery dots moving in a straight line. After descending the mountain, making sure he wouldn't be detected by the Hain, he proceeded to stalk the five, curious as to what they were doing walking in the wilderness alone.

Two of the five were holding crude, wooden sticks, their ends sharpened to a point. Of the rest, two were holding a peculiar weapon; two ropes, both tied to one end of a small, leather pouch. The last one was following behind the others, seemingly on alert, ready to signal their retreat in case he spotted anything that might lie in wait, ready ambush them. From these few observations, Ull'Yang deduced that the five Hain were hunters, searching for potential prey. "Look at that... They are already capable of forming semi-organised hunting parties!" Ull'Yang exclaimed silently, impressed by Toun's accomplishment in creating these creatures.

Ull'Yang stealthily followed behind the party, observing as they searched and eventually found a suitable prey, an elderly mountain goat that had descended from the alpine peaks of a nearby mountain in order to quench its thirst on a relatively small creek. Once they spotted their prey, the five Hain were quick on their feet, quickly surrounding it before engaging from all directions. The two spear-wielding Hain lunged at the goat, one from the front and the other from behind while the other two started throwing rocks at it with their crude slings. The fifth Hain surprisingly pulled a small, elongated rock fashioned in the form of a knife and also proceeded to stab at the goat between each attack from the spear-wielding Hain, making sure that their prey didn't have any chance to escape.

After making short work of the unlucky mountain goat, the Hain started dissecting the goat on the spot, cutting up its flesh and carefully storing away the meat inside large pouches made of strange, circular leaves. All this time, Ull'Yang hadn't made any move to reveal himself to the Hain, and why would he? It's not like he felt any empathy towards the goat. What he had witnessed was nature taking its course. The strong always devour the weak.

He continued following the party of five for some time after but quickly found himself to have lost interest in Toun's creations. "These creatures are interesting...but ultimately, that's all they are. I don't see them evolving any further than this..." Yang'Ze sighed before promptly leaving the Hain to their own devices.

---

The day after that, relatively insignificant, incident, Yang'Ze travelled to Mount Bormahven and unleashed a beam of light, a signal for one of his brothers, Teknall, to come and converse with him. His intent? To place a request: the forging of a weapon for his Avatar. His brother did not disappoint in the slightest and created a magnificent weapon, a Mithral quarterstaff. Ull'Yang found the staff to his liking the very moment Teknall handed it to him; mixing power and agility, one strike from the staff was as swift as the wind and as powerful as a mountain.

After their transaction was finished, Teknall departed and Ull'Yang willed his Avatar to travel to the Deepwood. There, he found a secluded grove, hidden deep inside the towering forest of Life, and started practising with his newly forged weapon. Ull'Yang divided his consciousness, leaving one-quarter of it behind with this Avatar and had the rest return back to his true body.

Somewhere in the boundless reaches of space, a gigantic star that radiated a deep, red light orbited around the centre of a nearby galaxy. Right now, Ull'Yang was pondering on whether he should create a demi-plane of his own or not. "Hmm, certainly, having a personal plane seems to be quite a convenient thing as demonstrated by Teknall's use of it. Although bare and devoid of any form of life, natural or unnatural; The potential for its birth is there," Ull'Yang thought, remembering back when Teknall had him place a star inside his demi-plane as payment for his services.

A deep, baritone voice echoed inside Ull'Yang's mind, startling him and waking him from deep thought. ‘Glory is yours, bearer of Fated scars, whose sacrifice will bring forth nights and stars. Weep not to lose that which is transitory, a mighty Fate does lie in store for thee. Have patience and let not the distant chest deceive you into thinking, “I am by Fate oppressed.”’

Ull'Yang, although not being able to see his brother with his own two eyes, he knew that Vowzra, the most mysterious of the god siblings by Ull'Yang's standards, had paid him a surprise visit as well. But before the Radiant Sun was able to greet and thank him for the few words of encouragement he had offered him, Vowzra had already vanished. Unable to directly express his gratitude, Ull'Yang simply nodded mentally, in appreciation for Vowzra's words.

"This form of mine, it is quite inconvenient when it comes to interacting with my surroundings...let's change that, shall we?" Ull'Yang thought as he started exerting his power, drawing it in, refining and melding it with the space around him. He condensed his divine essence, endlessly concentrating it inside his core. The process spanned a couple thousands of years, but that's of no importance to an ageless being such as a god.

"Ah, this is enough." Ull'Yang's essence, after being condensed for such a long time, changed in quality. From aetherial and gaseous in form, the concentrated essence had turned into a thick, paste-like viscous liquid that flowed from the depths of Ull'Yang's body to the outside, slowly building up in volume.

"Now, to form the body," Ull'Yang said as he willed the thick essence to move, slowly shaping it, sculpting out of it a suitable container for him. At first, the body's appearance closely resembled that of Yang'Ze, but several times larger. "Why not change it up a bit?" With that in mind, Ull'Yang willed the essence to elongate, stretching the body. On one end, a long, massive tail with a triangular tip formed whilst on the other, the head widened to a spade-like shape and ethereal, translucent hair grew from it. The eyes; two small sockets emitting a deep blue light, appropriately conveying the aura of an ancient being with unfathomable knowledge and power. On top of the head rested a semi-circular golden crown, radiating a dim, golden light.

The small, and now disproportionate to the rest of the body, limbs started growing outwards. Muscles upon muscles started overlapping each other before harmoniously melding together, forming two pairs of powerful-looking arms and legs.

Once everything came together, Ull'Yang interfaced with his new body. His essence flowed through its transparent veins, bringing faux life to it. His eyes flared up with blue star-fire. "Finally, I can see with my very own eyes," he thought as he scanned his surroundings. Rocks and other space debris orbited around him. Ull'Yang reached out, grabbing a bunch of those rocks with his massive hands, bringing them all together in front of him. A wry smile appeared on his face as he squeezed everything together. Under his grasp, hundreds of rocks shattered like glass before the pressure exerted by him, but he didn't stop there. He continued to press on the remains, increasing the pressure and, in turn, the temperature on the inside of his hands.

Eventually, the rocks melted from the sheer amount of heat and joined together, forming a big chunk of molten rock. Ull'Yang repeated the process, gathering rocks, pressing them, melting them and joining them together. After a dozen or so repetitions, Ull'Yang, pleased with the size of the rock, proceeded to give it the rough shape of a sphere. "Ahahah, this is fascinating. Truly, nothing compares to a body capable of withstanding all this power!" Ull'Yang laughed heartily as he played with the finished product in his hands. A sudden thought flashed through his mind; he immediately employed his awareness to pinpoint the location of Galbar, something that proved a relatively easy feat as he had left a quarter of his consciousness back there, along with his Avatar.

He made a few calculations in his mind, making sure that his little toy wouldn't spell doom for the poor planet, and after giving a last look at the rock, he cocked his arm back, his muscles bulging to their fullest as a string of divine essence flowed from his hand to the rock, giving it the necessary fuel to complete the trip. BOOM The comet shot forward with unimaginable speed, rocketing off into deep space; a bluish-golden tail forming behind it. "Whoever's inhabiting Galbar in the near future will be in for a breathtaking surprise," Ull'Yang smiled at the image of mortals looking up at the sky and seeing the comet passing by.

"Now, as for that plane..." Ull'Yang reached out with his right hand and with his claws, forcefully ripped a hole in the space-time continuum, opening a portal to an unknown pitch black space. The portal closed behind him as he entered his newly born demi-plane. "Ah, perfect. A blank canvas, ready to be filled with a myriad of colours and shapes," Ull'Yang exclaimed joyfully and quickly got to work creating his plane.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and closed her eyes, droplets of magical essence flying all over behind her onto the surface of the boulder she sat on and, further away, the trunks of the large trees in the deepwoods. It was so dark then that the droplets orbiting around the Goddess of Magic, numerous and slow, gave the scene a resemblance to the night sky. Unreachable, mysterious and beautiful.

Astarte wasn't smiling. She wasn't laughing or smirking or even frowning. Her lips were slightly parted, the corners of which took no particular direction. Her jaw was relaxed, hanging open slightly and making Astarte's upper teeth lightly touch her lower lip. Her head was angled upward with eyes gently closed. She didn't breathe. The only movement in the area came from the floating droplets of her essence.

She didn't want to make it this bad. A mere few million years of playing around and the animals within the Deepwoods already avoided her. It made her sad. She wasn't too rough with them, was she? The last time she pulled something on a group of monkeys, only a dozen of them died.

A high whine was heard from a few meters away. No doubt an animal who'd noticed her. Chasing it wasn't even worth the bother. Why would she do such a thing when she had done it hundreds of times before? What would make such an action worth pushing the animals further away? Nothing.

She didn't know what to do. She wanted to cry.

She clenched her jaw and pressed her lips together. Her brow furrowed into a frown. She pressed the palms of her hands against the boulder under her and felt a rush of emotion coming straight from her heart and over to all parts of her body.

As soon as she started feeling her heart beat in her ears, her eyes water and the first sob escape her mouth, she released a torrent of energy. The droplets of essence orbiting around her sped up to form a whirlwind of light. Some bits of the essence went so wild that it shot out into the woods. Other bits tore right into the earth, and others crashed against the trees around Astarte.

Whatever the essence touched was immediately imbued with magic. Some things couldn't take the energy and turned to ash. Others merely died, but a few of them survived.

As suddenly as the show of raw emotion started, it ended. No floating essence was left to shoot out haphazardly into the bottom of the Deepwoods. No feature of Astarte remained tense.

That's when Astarte finally opened her eyes and looked around. Some of the trees around her now had a small patch of what could only be described as veins of magical essence. Lavender in colour and with a strongly pulsating brightness, she could sense the purity of the magic now present within the surviving trees.

And then she looked down and saw the boulder under her. Veins ran all over it. They were so bright that they stopped looking like veins altogether and resembled cracks of light. It also smelled different, she noticed. Like wet dirt.

Seeing the rock brought a grin to Astarte's face. Her entire expression brightened up as she jumped off the boulder, slipping in the proccess.

"Oof!" She gasped in surprise as she fell on her butt several meters below on the ground.

She didn't feel any pain, being a Goddess and all, so she didn't waste any time in standing back up to admire the boulder. The thing was at least five meters tall and looked more like an obelisk of some sort than a mere rock with its brand new Magic Veins. She could barely contain her squeals of excitement as she ran up to the thing and pressed her entire body against it.

A light rush of heat went through her body, which made her all the more excited.

She needed to show this to someone and try this with some kind of animal. The kind that wouldn't run away from her or things touched by her, and the only one she knew who could supply her with such an animal would be no one less than Zephyrion. He did have a huge place of his own, right? He must hold a ton of animals she could borrow for her experiments! Who knows what would happen to a dog if it licked the Rock?

"Now then, please explore the Valley of Peace," Niciel said to her Angels. "While you are within the safety of the Nice Mountains, you will not be attacked or otherwise harmed by other creatures." Niciel then warned the Angels, "However, do not leave the Nice Mountains without my permission. There are many terrible creatures outside that will not hesitate to destroy you."

And so, the Angels flew off to explore the land they were born in.

---

Some Angels were content to find a spot to rest, usually under the shade of a tree. These Angels chatted and conversed with each other, all of them getting to know each other.

---

Some Angels understood the importance of shelter and began to brainstorm on how to do so. They looked at the trees, both Holy and normal, as well as the land around them, and got to work using the available materials. First, the problem of how to get the wood from the trees. Even the Angels were smart enough to realize that they simply couldn't just punch the wood and have it fall in neat blocks. One Angel, however, discovered a solution. This yellow-haired Angel sensed her power within her, and imagined herself challenging that power into her hands. Soon, white light glowed from her right hand. The Angel imagined further, and the light materialized, creating a blade extending from her fingertips. One swipe against a tree, and the blade passed cleanly through the tree trunk, felling the tree. The others around her observed this and tried to imitate her, each Angel having varying degrees of success. Some took more than one swipe to cut a tree, some chose to cut branches instead, and some couldn't even get a blade to form, but none of them could replicate the action.

---

There were some Angels who were simply too curious about the outside world and wanted to see what it was like for themselves. One blue-haired Angel, the one who had spoken to Niciel first, had joined this group and advised them that it was not a wise idea to disobey the Mother Goddess' instructions, but the others reasoned that as long as they stayed within the vicinity of the Nice Mountains, they would be fine. Seeing the consensus, the one Angel sighed and silently followed them to make sure that they didn't fall into, or even cause, any trouble.

In no time at all, they reached the summit of one of the mountains. They gazed at the sights of the world, from the Deepwood Forest to the Fractal Sea, although they looked rather small from their spot in the mountain. Only growing more curious, the Angels went further and further down the Nice Mountains, growing closer to the edge. The one Angel warned them again of the consequences, but the others merely said that they weren't going to leave the Nice Mountains and continued. The group soon spotted a towering white figure in the distance. Too curious to ignore it, the Angels fly over to it, ignoring the one Angel's protests.

Unfortunately for the Angels, this White Giant was not so happy to see them. When the Giant spotted the nearing Angels, it roared and began to attack them. Caught by surprise, the Angels began to move back, away from the new threat and to the safety of the mountains. A few of the Angels was too slow, however, and the White Giants was soon upon them.

At first, the one Angel believed that it was over for them. There was nothing that could stop a creature like that from destroying the foolish Angels that had disobeyed mother Niciel. However, despite him knowing that, he felt... something. He felt that maybe, just maybe, that they still deserved a second chance. So what if they did something stupid? That was part of learning. He wanted to save them, and make sure that they didn't something so stupid again.

But how? He didn't have the strength to stop the beast. If he tried to shield them, he would die along with them. As he thought about it, however, he began to feel something within him. A power. The more he thought about it, the more he felt it. It was there and waiting to be used.

So he extended his hand, and imagined what he wanted to do. Blue light shined from his hand, and the White Giant crashed into a glowing blue barrier. However, the Giant was unperturbed and continued smashing itself against the barrier in an attempt to reach the Angels, who were now frozen in fear and wonder. The one Angel went over to the group and told them to go back to the Mountains, then forced the barrier forward as the White Giant was moving back to charge again, pushing it away. As the Giant got back up from the force, the Angels had recovered from their shock and retreated. With no more threats to answer to, the Giant resumed its peaceful demeanor and slowly wandered off.

---

Niciel watched everything the Angels did, from the chattering to the attempted shelters to the White Giant encounter. Once a certain period of time passed, however, Niciel addressed all of them, "My children, gather together, for I have something to tell all of you."

The Angels did as they were told, and once all the Angels were together, Niciel spoke, "All of you have done as you wished. Some chose to get to know the others, some chose to make shelters. Some of you... have made mistakes, but they are forgiven. Out of all of you, two have shown exceptional promise. You, and you." Niciel pointed out the two by creating small orbs of light above their heads. "You two, please rise."

The two Angels floated up into the air, one trembling with excitement and the other calmly waiting. Niciel addressed them both, "Speak your names, so I may know them."

The blue-haired male went first. He bowed and said, "My name is Loth, mother Niciel."

The blonde female followed suit, bowing and continuing, "My name is Falas, mother Niciel."

"Loth and Falas, you two are the Guardians of the Angels. Ensure their safety as best you can," Niciel said as the two orbs from earlier entered their bodies. The two glowed for a moment, but the glow soon faded.

Just as the deed was complete, Niciel's Orb of Escry began to spark and glow. Niciel peered into the Orb, and was rather surprised to see what was going on. Niciel stared off into the distance, in the direction of the Firewind Desert. "It seems there are matters I must attend to. All of you, please behave well." With a glow of light, Niciel's presence disappeared.

---

Within the confines of the womb of a god, rests the balled up form of what appears to be subjective nothingness - a conundrum of thought conforming to the instance of Emotion as it had been currently stolen from Vestec; and sentient life.

"Prosit." thinks the being of emotional immaturity.

What does it mean? This word.

In fact, what is a word? This entity, this fetus, dabbles into something quartered off by his mother, of whom is about to destroy him - it. Gazing into the Codex of Creation, as it had been called since the beginning, the stewing demigod finds something else linked to 'word', it finds 'name'.

Name. Word.

These dualities float around within the mind of the sproutling until it comes to an ultimatum, studying the base of linguistics, as dictated by creation itself. It would need a name if it were to establish itself in this universe, more or less find the self-identity to survive.

With a now humanoid hand, straining with human musculature, and gnawing into atmosphere with human fingertips, it reaches out to stop its would-be abortion from existence. When the attack resonates with his divine palm, Lifprasil speaks:

"Prosit."

For the newly antiquitated godling, Lifprasil would use this word as a greeting of good faith - a toast. This to fate, and his mother's unbeknownst wrathful nature towards himself.

Lifprasil intertwines hand in hand with Vulamera, gripping to her strike with fervor as he hoists himself from the pit of a God's stomach. The newly born feels some semblance of a profound sadness as the harsh winds of Galbar beset him.

Standing from the mangled stomach of Vulamera is the first, the very first Demi-God on the face of this flotilla upon smoke and mirrors, this dimension wrenched within a void of alternatives and branching paths.

"Thank you, Mother, Father, and the divine sky I stand under." Lifprasil prenounciates.

From his mouth isn't the wisps and tongues that the Gods debate and quarrel in, but the vocalization of man. Covered in the shimmering blood of a remorseful god, Lifprasil takes his first two steps into the unusual world he had been unwittingly thrust into. He leaves Vulamera behind - if not for a moment - just to stare into the night sky.

He sees moons, floating satellites bobbing through the rigorously ebbing current of gravity, and behind them, the stars that suffer the same fate. The wonderous structures strewn across the Universe fascinates the childish creation of two parallel gods as he gazes into the well monitored chaos of space.

Lifprasil turns his gaze from the unearthly manuscript splayed above him, and gazes back to his mother, and the dead ground beneath him. Like a hurricane, the atmosphere of emotion thickens around him, like the coiling reverb of a predator threatening to swallow him whole.

The sadness bores down on his faceless form even more profoundly than when he had first experienced existence. It was pain, continuous pain.

Even so, the idea of relapsing into a deathless sleep only disturbed Lifprasil, the more he brooded on the concept. Now, he realized his purpose, feeling the primeval fear, the prehistoric rawness of the lives led by even the least significant sentient being.

Vulamera had remained in utter silence as what was a fetus only moments ago, without warning, hoisted itself from her stomach. She was shocked. In an instant of an instant, a writhing mass of primordial chaos-thought had been exalted into semi-divinity. In an instant of an instant, it had come from dangling inches away from death to being a demigod of sheer potential.

The Hain, the Chaos Children, even the Rovaick all took their sentience from the well of Vulamera's influence. It had been her touch in the Codex of Creation that allowed self-aware, interlinking organic thought to be elevated from the despondently unintelligent animals of Slough. Sentience was her personal stamp on the Codex of Creation, thus all sentience owed its existence to the Transcendent Mother's caress.

Except this one.

It was clear to her when the Demigod stumbled around the desert that this was no child of her design. The way it moved, the way it spoke, the way it thought... all was alien. Vulamera's mind swirled up a storm of possible causes for this deviancy in character. At this time, while she fervently wracked her brain for an answer, Vulamera was at long-last exactly who she always intended to be: the wondering scholar.

The solution came to her one minute, two seconds and 523 milliseconds into her puzzling. It was surprisingly obvious: the being dubbing itself Lifprasil had achieved sentience by intentionally or unintentionally- it mattered not- stealing a fraction of Vulamera's own intellect. Now, had it stopped there, it would have been of Vulamera's mental breed, just as all other truly thinking creations thus far have been. It didn't and it isn't, however. Being a descendant of Vulamera and thus naturally curious, Lifprasil must have wormed its way through her mind, finding the Codex of Creation tucked away. It was then that the words of Amul'Sharar and Fate (which she herself, its mother jealously thought, had never successfully harnessed) must have interacted with the infant some how, granting it the gift of sentience. Therefore, Lifprasil's strange and quick development from fetus to adult did not come from Vulamera, but from Fate and Amul'Sharar themselves, with the Goddess of Curiosity only serving as the match to ignite his intelligence.

Amazing, she mused to herself. I wonder if Fate had intended this from the start? It may well be that my offspring is the sole reason I was allowed to carry the Codex with me into this universe. Had it not been here, Lifprasil would not have evolved so suddenly, and I would have cut him to pieces. It is because of the Guardian Amul'Sharar and Fate's words that his life was spared, and it is because of my intelligence that he could understand the need to save himself from me. This is all too convenient to be anything but intelligent design. Fate must have planned this outcome. This outcome, which Vestec, Zephyrion, and myself- perhaps the three most rebellious of all our siblings- had each unknowingly played into. Most impressive.

Vulamera walked slowly to her newborn son. Kindly, motheringly, she placed her hand on his forehead. "What Vulamera's Mind, Vestec's Corruption, and Fate's Wisdom has put together, let no man nor God tear apart. You are my child. You are Lifprasil. Prosit." This was her blessing to him, a promise that she would bring him no ill will.

Lifprasil's musings soon end when his mother finds herself gazing unto him, her hand unto his forehead. Still beset by the thoughts and emotion of sentience, Lifprasil crests his hand over his mother's forearm and grips it gently. He lets his head taper to the side, to rest on his shoulder.

"Thank you for your blessing - mother." Lifprasil states, his voice echoing through the planular death-scape around him.

His mother nodded solemly in response. She was by no means joyful, but she did radiate a sort of quiet approval of him.

Lifprasil soon begins probing the universe for a form, a shape that can be easily recognized as Emotion, a domain so tiny in comparison to those that spread their twisted malphesles throughout this reality.

The first creatures that Lifprasil would be made aware of throughout meditation would be the Hain. He thinks, taking on the form of such, but he finds the perfection of such creatures... Unnerving, their size lacking any intimidation. To Lifprasil, the Hain had the aesthetic fit or an artisan - but not a Demi-God.

Not a king.

Lifprasil's albeit momentary glance into the fears and hopes of sentient-kind, this universe was migitated by such an array of gods, but it became blaringly obvious by just gazing into such stragevities as the Hain that they had done something wrong.

The answer had not come to Lifprasil, and he knows now that it will not come to him for a while - so he searches more, pressing the thought of this universe's flaw to the back of his mind.

Strange were the hobbling goblin creatures, but their nature was far too primeval, they were mighty, but their demeanor and physique would be nothing to look up to. Within the same vein as him, Lifprasil gazes amongst the masses that had accompanied his birth; but he found not the shape he looked for within them. He would love them as he would love every sentient creature - but he would not become them.

Lifprasil searches, a transmission of want throughout the universe for some divine creation to take shape as.

From some extensive miracle of everything, Lifprasil finds something far away from Galbar, on a yet unnamed planet (in his mind, at least): Humans, as he would call them.

Each one's unpredictable variety, and their potential for reason amongst feeling becomes Lifprasil's muse to his physique. They're just tall enough, just strong enough, and just thoughtful enough to become representative of his empirical dream.

In his shape there was duality, but at the same time there wasn't any - just amnesty and honesty. In reference to his mother he would be anything but one-sided in his masculinity and femininity, but both.

The end result is a prophet, musculature sparse but un-needed, without a strong face to confide within - only beauty to be dazzled by.

---

Within the purview of his alcazar Zephyrion had lazed, gazing down upon his lands from afar and observing the journey of Ventus and Slough through the Firewind Resort. With some interest his keen senses had detected Jvan's presence below, but despite his best efforts he had been unable to hear their conversation. A variety of emotions swirled through him; Jvan was one to be respected and he was on good terms with her, yet he still found the idea of another meddling with the affairs of his house to be...distasteful.

These musings ceased when he suddenly sensed Vestec's presence down below, as well as...Vulamera? Vestec was welcome, but Vulamera's trespasses would not be tolerated! Suddenly in a foul mood, it was with no shortage of ire that he left the comforts of his citadel and transformed into a horrific storm. He raged across his desert below and rapidly cascaded onto the scene as a colossal mass of whirling stormclouds and lightning. With his arrival had also come black skies and rolling winds, the parched desert sands now becoming drenched beneath a torrential downpour of rain and vitrified by the wild lightning strikes from above.

But none of that could wash away the sight of burning blood across his beautiful desert; Vulamera had dared to debase his creation with the fluids of her wretched body? His hatred for her could only grow until it exceeded all bounds.

"What is this befoulment that you have wrought upon my land, tiny one? Wrath is me!" he roared, the winds washing over everything below and thundering his words even over the sudden pounding of rain.

Vulamera was not impressed.

Her six wings beat once in unison, launching her fearlessly into Zephyrion's storm. Lightning pulsated the air, charging her metallic flesh with electricity but doing no harm. Those unfathomably deep eyes, each searching a different direction, sought to locate the largest, most boisterously overstated cloud- the Shadow of Revelations predicted that this would be where her enemy had concentrated power.

In only a second, she had found it: the central cloud was puffed up to a towering height. She levitated to it, looked directly into it, then crossed her arms defiantly.

"Wrong." Her voice was not angry so much as it was disinterested and disappointing, like a teacher explaining something to a dull student for the fiftieth time. "I have met wrath, fought with it one-on-one and still dared to stare into its soul. Its name is Violence, and you are not it. Just like the air you rule, you are vast but empty of meaning. A cloud appears intimidating when looming overhead, but what is it really consistent of? Nothing. A small force could blow it away. And when one such as you is so empty, so idiotic, so honourless... why should I be inclined to respect your territory? You have done nothing to earn my respect, nor my kindness.

"You had but one reason for coming into this universe: to imbue change into the Codex, which I carry within me. Now that your simple, singular purpose for existing has been completed, you amount to nothing. You are nothing. Just a storm raging without cause, just a child whining when he is not pampered to. Awaken yourself to reality, detestable fool! You are meaningless!"

Lifprasil, once the astral battle had begun on the surface of a planet, has little to no time to further prod and search into the universe he had been thrust into before Zephyrion makes his volatile approach.

The winds that had been just hoarse whispers before became impudent screams, gripping Lifprasil, and hoisting him into the heart of the storm. Although, hoist would be used lightly in such a situation. Lifprasil was thrown, rather, like a ball he sailed through the air in a jagged coordinate, from place to place he would be flown, each twist and turn in the air further ruining his new body.

In silence he contemplates, looking back through his already eventful memories to find one more thing about his nature - he can fly.

With a sudden exhale, Lifprasil releases all the air in his lungs, and his arms and legs steady themselves with his body. Now, the wind could not bully him, with some evidence of strain, Lifprasil lifts himself into the air; the length of his hair flurries behind him, his tumbulous nature helping him navigate the storm.

With this newfound power, Lifprasil confides in observation, rather than engagement.

Vulamera's petulant prattling annoyed Zephyrion, but he allowed her to remain in his face for the duration of her spiel. All the while, those two massive balls of lightning that we his eyes cast a withering gaze at her, illuminating the dark and stormy sky as brightly as any sun might have. A portion of the duration he had spent simply looking at her funny little form; it seemed ever so fragile, prone to violent and destructive forms of Change. The talk of her confrontation of 'Violence' went entirely unheard. When she was done, there was finally a horrific boom that shook the sky. It slowly subsided, but before its last echoes were gone, there was another. And another. Zephyrion was laughing.

"Meaningless? What use is a foolish goddess that claims wisdom as herself? I do not have to suffer you!"

Bearing down the entirety of his weight and that of the sky itself, like lightning an unyielding force slammed down to cast her back to ground where the rest of the wretched creatures dwelled. She would address him from below, looking upwards, as befit vermin of her station.

Vulamera allowed it, making no attempts to resist. However, she was not slammed down as her adversary had willed, but to the contrary, she dispersed on the way. Her physical form turned to dust, then blew away in Zephryion's wind. The Goddess existed once more as a Cloud of Mind, totally psionic and making no impression on the world.

Remaining in this "form", she stretched herself outwards- expanding much as Storm Incarnate does- to encompass the bodies of Vestec, Lifprasil, and Zephyrion. It would not be apt to describe them as being within her, for she is not physically present and thus nothing can be without or within her, but it may be accurate to say that her influence had come to include their minds as well. She could sense small snaps of their thoughts, and she felt within Zephyrion a worrying urge to destroy.

"Zephyrion, comprehend this: any attempt to attack me will be largely wasted. It is no easy task to harm something that does not technically exist, and I will flee the moment you injure me. I have no shame in this, for combat is unwise by nature." She fully meant what she said, for her brief skirmish with Violence had reinforced that which she already suspected about battles: they were as wasteful as Zephyrion.

Bemused by how she had cowered and shed her physical form for fear of being torn asunder, the First Gale bellowed, "Like swatting insects!" Zephyrion laughed even harder this time, enough to shake the ground below. Regardless, he wasn't concerned in the slightest about those on the ground below; Vulamera had garnered his full attention.

"Ruminate upon this: I am a Supreme Being and I made the most important contribution to this world. Indeed, it was I that imparted everything of true important that Codex that you greedily clutch onto even now. Logos' arbitrary rules of physics, your supposed 'intellect' and 'order', even the finer things such as beauty: all of it is but glamor atop the foundation I wrought! There is nothing and would have been nothing if not for Change, and I am Change! I am everything!

So, how do you propose to challenge me? You do seem intent on provoking my ire, for why else do you insult my senses with your lingering presence? Why else might you trespass upon my land here and seek to subvert my dominion of Change to your worthless designs? Clearly you seek your own destruction, little insect. I will eagerly oblige!"

She had no hands to hold up, so instead she sent him a mental signal that could be roughly translated into "Stop!"

"Subvert your dominion of Change? Zephyrion, think for a moment over what I have spoken: I clearly do not value Change as you do, and so why would I seek to usurp your rule of it? You may have Change. I only invaded your desert out of necessity. I-" She stopped short. How could she ever hope to explain her predicament to one such as him? Would he understand the complexities of delving into Vestec's mind, or why she had to remove the Chaos from herself at that exact moment? Perhaps there was a way.

She concentrated together the memories of Chaos surging through her, the emotions of fear and desperation she felt at that time, the intellectual comprehension that she would be forever cursed with Chaos- an element not her own- if she did not create something out of that element to rid herself of it. Then, she sent all of it to Zephyrion's mind. In essence, she caused him, for at least a moment, to see this all from her perspective, so that he would finally understand why she had no choice but to upset his desert with her species and power.

With her lapse in speech, Zephyrion anticipated an attack, and so he braced for it. When her memories and thoughts came rushing forward like the tidal wave, he steeled himself and almost unconsciously rejected it all. Like the waves that boomed helplessly against a mighty fjord, he blocked out her intrusion.

In spite of all his attempts, a small thought steeled its way through his best attempts and penetrated into the depths of his mind. He saw...blood? And a battle? That said enough about Vulamera's intentions; he would not allow her evil machinations to drive him insane!

"Your attempts to invade my mind will be repelled! I will stand for your transgressions NO LONGER!"

Immaterial spears of energy manifested, and like needles Zephyrion tried to drive them into the very essence of Vulamera himself. He prodded through the air, finding her presence everywhere and nearly as suffocating as the air itself, so he gouged at it all and swung his needles wildly. He too was just a being of energy, after all; shedding her flesh would offer respite, but not safety!

A scream of pain echoed from every direction. It sounded like a screeching woman, but it slowly grew in volume while dropping in pitch.

If she had lips, Vulamera would have smirked to herself. The spears were incredibly painful, but she had no body- no reason to require vocalizing her agony. She knew that Zephyrion would find a special joy in believing that he had hurt her, leading him to listen closely to the screams. Then, as he allowed the lamentations to fill his hearing, she would transform them into the buzzing, droning sound that gave her access to other God's minds. She had done it with Vakarlon, she had done it with Vestec, and now she would do it to Zephyrion.

Practically without warning, the scream dropped into an insectoid buzz. Then, while Zephyrion was distracted by the sound, she attempted again to implant her memories, emotions, and understanding into him once again. She left out any valuable information about Vestec's mind, of course, but her enemy would recieve enough data to comprehend why Vulamera had no choice in what she did.

With an utterly exhausting push, Vulamera stabbed her concentrated force of thought into Zephyrion's mind, barreling past barriers with as much skill as she was able.

Vulamer'a screams were gratifying, but her continued presence was not. What would it take to drive his accursed sister away or kill her? Harder and more wildly he jabbed with the needles of energy, merely annoyed at the incessant drone that she projected into his mind. If that was her best attempt at retaliation, she would find herself hopelessly overpowered. Then she was suddenly attempting to enter his mind again, only this time it would seem that she was trying much harder. This was not going according to plan!

Struggling with all the mental concentration he could muster being used to beat back at Vulamera, Zephyrion was unable to think, unable to even enunciate words or think of what he might have said if he could. Fortunately, he needed no words to communicate his thoughts; if Vulamera couldn't directly sense that he wanted her to get out, she would feel his attempts to force her to do as much. They were brute, tremendous shoves, like the pounding of a hammer.

Even faced with his efforts, through Vulamera's determination and overwhelmingly stronger power over the mind, she did manage to impart the memories this time as she had sought to do. Each one was violently inserted into his mind, and each time he retched and choked as if he was some sort of lowly beast being forcibly fed mud. At last, with one final mental heave he banishes Vulamera from his mind. Were he a mortal he might have been struck insane, left with a pounding head, or worse, but with his divine powers he recovered quickly. What took slightly longer were his attempts to process all of that information that had been forced upon him.

He quickly replayed the story in his mind, narrating to himself Vulamera's actions in all their foolishness. She did not seem intent on assaulting him once more nor on fleeing, so there was a short pause in their quarrel while he booded over what he had just learned. The apparent insanity of Vestec made him question his dealings with that god of chaos and left him inclined to be more withdrawn in the future, but Vulamera's lack of detail had fortunately hidden the worst of it.

"So circumstances that you believe to have been beyond your control leave you here, on my lap, tainting my dominion and twisting my power for your own purposes, and now you expect...forgiveness? Explain to me, Vulamera, why the beast musn't maul the fool who unknowingly sets foot in his den?! It was your mistake to attempt to look into Vestec for the sake of nothing but this strange concept you call 'curiosity', and evidently you have burnt your torch from both ends--gone much too far! You think that you can evade natural consequences, or that your reasoning is of any concern to me?"

"Very well. I see that you desire neither reasoning nor mercy. Had you ever used my domain without permission as I used yours, I would gladly have forgiven you. In fact, you have and I did. You made Ventus sentient, you made Ventus intelligent. That is my domain. I rule over it. You should not have created any sentience, even that of the Djinn Lords, without my express permission. I created sentience- it was my addition to the Codex, just as Change was yours, and seeing others twist it and violate it pains me dearly in ways that I cannot begin to explain. It is a part of me, and you stole it away."

Zephyrion suddenly interrupted Vulamera, already weary of her talk. [b][color=Gold]"Ventus is yet another embodiment of Change and reflection of myself; I did not look to your contributions for aid and nor would I, for I am a Supreme Being and my image is thereby superior to any foolish creation or powers of yours. I existed before you created intelligence, I exist beyond your control, and therefore so too does Ventus! Furthermore, I am exempted from such standards; as I have already reiterated tenfold upon your feeble mind to no avail, I AM EVERYTHING,"[/b][color] he roared, steadily increasing in volume until the end, where his words became deafening and at one with the thunder.

"It does not matter if you intentionally looked to my powers or not, you still used them. I could feel the sentience from the moment it came into existence: I could feel you raping my domain without consent. He is intelligent, and not a God, so therefore his intelligence certainly comes from my stamp on the Codex of Creation. This cannot be debated: that is a fact. I can show you the place on the Codex that affirms what I am saying beyond refutation, if you will it."

Zephyrion remained unfaltering in his anger, writhing with impatience and frustration at how every ounce of wisdom that he might have imparted went entirely over her head. Clearly reasoning with her was futile and from now on he'd need to resort to force. That was no matter; force was more amusing anyways.

"And yet, for all this, I forgive you. For it would be completely wrong if an agent of Change could not create thinking life, which is also an agent of Change. I allow my powers to be defiled your powers, for you are my sibling, and I do not desire to limit you. I simply wish that, in return for allowing you to influence my domain via the Djinn, you would not be so furious with me for influencing yours to save my very life."

In a mocking jeer, he answered, "I am glad to be forgiven for the imagined slights upon you, and now I await your apology and your proclamation of undying gratitude, for I have chosen to spare you the brunt of my anger against all better judgement!"

"I have no reason to be grateful- you are only doing what is morally sound by sparing me your anger, and morality needs no reward. I would have done the same for you. I had to survive, brother. I will not die to avoid briefly touching your domain. That is absurd. But if you wish it, I can attempt to repair any damage I may have caused, or to move my new creations elsewhere."

"Your code of 'morality' holds no power over me and is utterly meaningless; why must I subject myself to your imagined concepts of good and evil, when I might just as easily tell you that the moral action would have been to die, and that your 'survival' was utterly amoral? You see, good and evil are nothing. The wind blows regardless, and along with it are carried the ruined dreams and ravaged corpses of those who fall victim to such worthless notions.

You WILL repair the damage that you have caused, and as in for your toys," Zephyrion said, gazing down and suddenly sensing their presence, "I will scatter them like leaves on the wind; away from my demesne. They are banished, and so too are you!" He raised a fist and an unstoppable gust of wind wrapped around each of Vulamera's terrified creatures, and they were cast wildly thorugh the sky while Zephyrion seemingly had no regards for their impending doom. The lumbering, looming figures of several massive elementals in the sky swept up the miserable creatures though, and at Zephyrion behest they carried the things gently into the distance.

"I agree, good and evil are nothing, but morality exists not in good and evil, but rather in fair treatment and equality. If my morality means nothing, than neither does yours, and I have no reason to obey your rules and avoid your domain. Do you not understand? If you must not obey my morals, I must not obey yours. By your own logic, I can do whatever I wish in your domain, for there is no morality to stop me, and I can avoid you if I need to. Indeed, I could attack your domain at any time, or leave at any time. I only stayed thus far because I need to protect my creations from your wrath, and to watch over my newborn son, who has been tossed about mercilessly by your furious rage. Do you not see him, struggling in the wind that he is not at fault for? I give up on you, Zephyrion. I do not hate you, I am not angry with you... I simply give up. I do not think I will ever be able to teach you to understand this beautiful world as I do, and for that I am very sorry. You will forever be a moronic fool, cursed with your own idiocy. I hereby name you the God of Vanity.

Should you ever need me, however, I will still never be more than a call away. We are still siblings." A deeply, sincerely regretful tone tinted her words. There was no day sadder than the one where Vulamera must finally give up on teaching one of her siblings logic. She honestly did not harbor any grudges against Zephyrion, for while she had been enraged at first, she had soon calmed herself. If only, she wished, the Lord of Change could do the same."

Zephyrion scoffed. "The difference," he managed to speak, before suddenly being consumed by that dreadful laughter that Vulamera would by now be used to. "...is that I am a supreme being, and if you refuse my will then I will cast you like a pebble upon the wind!"

"You could not do that. Not at all. Which, I think, is why you do not try."

His vision then turned down to the ground, where he looked for this 'son'. He sensed Lifprasil below, being wildly flung about by the unstoppable gusts of wind that were Zephyrion's breath and body. There was something enchanting about that one. The winds around him began to spin in a circle, whipping around to form a vortex around his body. Safely within the eye of that small storm, he would now be untouched and at peace. Distracted from Vulamera and her countless insults, his attention now solely upon Lifprasil, he swooped down low to the ground once more and showed his face to the demigod.



"Hello, little one," Zephyrion crooned, this time his words a mere whisper on the wind. Somehow his tone still managed to cut through the whirling winds of the raging storm around, even as it began to die down and subside along with the god's anger. For all of Vulamera's insults and transgressions, perhaps she would find the forgiveness that she thought to be impossible after all. It all depended upon this one...

"Be at ease, now; I wish unto you no harm and shelter you from the horror inflicted by my presence. I will apologize for any injury inflicted upon you by my winds; I had not noticed you down below, and any harm that befell you was not intended; you must trust that I hold no malice. You are not to be blamed for the shortcoming and innumerable insults of your mother..." he continued. 'Or your father, it would seem.' the god thought to himself, casting a furtive glance towards Vestec for a brief second.

"I am Zephyrion, God of Change, King of Storms, the First Gale, the Supreme Being! You intrigue me, but I fear for you what with such terrible influences and manipulations sure to come from your mother and perhaps others. I would take you under my wing and protection, and under my tutelage, you would become great! Think of this grand opportunity; I offer you the chance to dwell in my palace in the skies, to learn about power and truth from a god. This is more than you will ever gain from another, and I think that already you can sense it..."

He turned back to Vulamera, expecting her to be dumbstruck or to raise some petty objection, and addressed her before she could interrupt. "THIS would be your opportunity to achieve precious redemption in my eyes, to be spared from further retribution and left free to go. By delivering this one to me and allowing him to learn from me, you will be forgiven and pardoned of all offense. I may even suffer your presence in my palace, on such occasions as would warrant."

He looked now to Lifprasil again, for he trusted that Vestec would need no convincing if this is what his son wanted. "So, what say you? Will you accept my offer, perhaps the greatest gift that I can afford?"

"I thank you, Zephyrion, for sheltering my beloved child even as you despise me. I will gladly give him over to you, but only if he chooses so. If he does not, I will never let you so much as touch him."

Vulamera spoke next to her son. "Do not believe him when he says he is a 'Supreme Being', for he is no greater than any other God, as all except Zephyrion will testify to. Nonetheless, respect him greatly, for he is a deity. If you will to go under his wing instead of mine, I will not stop you. It is your decision, my child, though it is a risky one. I suggest, dear son, that you listen to all of us. When any of the Gods speak to you, consider what they say closely, be it Zephyrion, myself or any other. In time, the wise will be seperated from the fools, and you will learn who to obey."

As the two deities quarreled, the Holy Wisp that had survived began moving more erratically than normal. To the gods, it could easily be ignored, but to one, it could not. A beam of white light began to shine down, and Niciel slowly materialized into view, her two Orbs still revolving around her. Niciel looked down at the land below, seeing the storm that was assaulting the inhabitants below. Niciel pointed her hand downward and let loose a ray of gentle pink light, calming the storm enough for the little ones below to recover and/or flee. With that task done, she returned her attention to the deities. "Hello, everyone," Niciel greeted them calmly. "Zephyrion. Vulamera." Vulamera sent a silent, wordless mental message of greetings.

There was a pause before she continued with the last, "Vestec."Then she decided to move on from the greetings and into casual conversation. "I hope all of you have not treated each other too badly."

"You mean aside from me being stabbed and Zephyrion almost getting brainwashed? Oh, not badly at all. " Vulamera laughed. Humour, she felt- even if it was poor humour- served as a perfect calming agent in such a tense situation.

"Ah, Niciel! Such serendipity and pleasure it is to have you in my presence, as ever. I have had the misfortune to have this day ruined by nothing short of an invasion of my land and a violation of my dominion, yet tomorrow the sun shall still rise. You must come visit my palace some time; your company is ever welcome. But let us not be distracted..."

Zephyrion turned back to Lifprisil, ignoring Vulamera and the filth and lies that spilled forth from her mouth. She tried him, but right now what she did was of no import. Only Lifprisil's answer concerned Zephyrion.

While they awaited the answer of her offspring, Vulamera concentrated her memories and emotions again, into yet another sphere of telepathic understanding. Except, this time, the memories were consistent of both Vestec's mind, her suffering, and the conflict with Zephyrion thus far. She made it into a shining orb of orange light, lit up even further with runes of magic adorning its semi-solid surface.

"Niciel, this is for you. It will reveal all that has happened thus far. I have left it unbiased, to the best of my humble ability."

The sphere sunk into the skull of Light Incarnate, filling her with memories, understanding, knowledge- of all that had occured in this conflict.

Niciel's mind was suddenly filled with the memories of the events here. Vulamera's entrance into Vestec's mind, Vestec's influence forcing Vulamera to be conceived with Lifprasil, Zephyrion's entrance into the fray, and the resulting storm. Of course, the main event of most interest to Niciel was the birth of Lifprasil. Niciel did not realize that such a being could be created in such a way. Vestec's methods were always appalling, but Niciel did not know how to think about this situation. For now, she would examine the child and see what would become of them. Niciel looked down to address Liprasil and greeted them warmly, "Hello. What is your name, young one?"

Lifprasil, throughout Zephyrion's attempted interrogation, had no expression that would indicate interest in what he said, it's not that he wasn't interested, no - he was contemplating a response. The ways of this universe were strange to him, and when he found safer ground he had sat to observe amongst the chaos, and he was still seated.

For a few minutes Lifprasil meditates further on the offer, and the Goddess' question, silently staring up to Zephyrion, then at the magnificent architecture had been dwelling in for eons, however much an over - or under - statement that may be.

The first Demi-God, the preposed King of Kings, gazes from the sky, now, towards the lipid horizon beyond.

Galbar's curviture was interesting, the entire universe even more so. But the dazzling serendipity of the floating palace of the Wind God felt like a place to start. He decides to direct his attention to Niciel first, however, her incandescence was much more enamouring - and the question would make for better introductions.

"My name is Lifprasil, daughter to Vulamera, and son to Vestec, but if you prefer to refer to me as the child of thought - call me Vesamera." Lifprasil announces, his voice trembling between either gender.

After Lifprasil finishes giving his namesake, he turns to Zephyrion, taking on the predeposed prose and stance of something equal to himself - even going so far as to fly up to meet him. His ascendance isn't similar to the haphazard method he had taken before, no, but as if he had been uplifted by some non-existant podium to reach Zephyrion.

For naught but a minute Lifprasil gazes into Zephyrion in silence, his golden eyes now clearly shimmering in the darkness of Galbar's night.

"Prosit, good creature, despite your hostility towards my mother your charity shows some faith in myself and my mission. I accept your offer, King Upon the Breeze." Lifprasil says, his voice becoming more masculine with each reaffirming word in his speech.

"I do not wish to berate or betray my parents - but capture a glimpse into your nature, and befriend you for an idea that sprouted in my mind that even now; I have no idea of its true purpose." the Demi-God continues, extending his frail hand, his eye lids tilted in what would look to be complete nirvana.

"Kneel and take my hand, tumblesome creature, do not take the nature of my talk as hostility - I look up to nobody. I am equal to all."

"You possess the wisdom to accept my offer graciously. I see that you also carry a healthy respect for those creators that are your parents; this is good. Your misguided notion of equality is not: to be equal to all makes you no better than the base maggots that infest a reeking carcass. No, there is always a hierarchy, and though you may rise to higher station you will forever be a part of that chain of power. The elementals know this well, for I have taught them, just as I will teach you." With that he descended even closer to the ground, kneeling as best a being of his form could, and a soft gust of divine wind reached out to touch Lifprisil's hand.

"We depart when you are ready; for now, it is time to say your farewells."

The godling just smiles down at Zephyrion, the god may be powerful - but he certainly didn't understand the thought invested to bending one's knee. "Very well, m'lord."

"Very well, daughter and son," Vulamera spoke with a hint of sadness in her voice, "I will always be here to teach and guide you, no matter your masters or mentors, nor my personal feelings towards them."

Lifprasil turns his head to his mother - at least in her own eyes, a second one sprouting from his first within Vulamera's perception of the universe. It gazes into her soul, its pair of formerly golden eyes slanting until they're sideways - his coloration having changed to purple.

My beloved mother - I have not left you. states the echoing presence within her mind. I will always be with you. Lifprasil reassures her, his unblinking eyes slowly disappearing as his mental connection wanes.

Vestec watched the ensuing argument, the only sounds leaving him being giggles at the various actions taken by the Gods. He found this entirely amusing, and had no doubt this wouldn't be the end of conflicts between Zephyrion and Vulamera.

He only left the scene of the conflict for an instant, catching one of his and Vulamera's creatures before it could be taken away by the Elementals. In an instant it was gone, hidden away among the Rovaick for his later use.

He waved cheerfully at Niciel as she showed up, before turning to watch the current conversation between Lifprasil and Cyclone. "Before you go, child, I have one gift for you..." Vestec concentrated chaos energy in his hands, shaping it into a sword, an Urumi. Holding the sword he drew out Astarte's vial and put a drop onto the blade, putting more power into it. A pulse of harmless chaotic energy went out and he gave it to his child. "Destroy your enemies with it, child of mine."

Lifprasil grasps the sword, the handles lined with spikes, but the blade so divine and alluring in its sheen that he can't help but grasp it with his bare. He soon finds, however, that the strangely liquid metal moves on its own volition, like the heads of a snake, each tip attempts to bite at him.

However, it soon realizes of whom is its master, the blades just coinciding to float beside him per his mental request.

Niciel gave a look of disapproval to Vestec. "Such a dangerous tool given to a youngling. How very 'Vestec'," Niciel said. Turning her attention to Lifprasil, Niciel said to them, "True strength doesn't come from power and bloodlust. You should rid yourself of such a thing before it decides to use you instead. If you decide to keep it... I will not judge you. However, I will leave you this gift as well." Niciel concentrated her power, and her hands glowed with energy. A small orb of yellow, pink, and light blue light appeared, floating in Niciel's hand for a moment before floating over to Lifprasil. When it reached Lifprasil's chest, it began to mold itself to their body, fitting them perfectly. The light then subsided, revealing a suit of yellow armor with light blue-and-pink trim. It radiated an aura of pure and holy energy, showing its power.

Lifprasil extends his right hand, that which holds his chaos blade, the full length of the multitude of writhing pieces exposed by their suddenly streamlined nature, spanning across a good twelve feet of desert as he inhales deeply.

For once Lifprasil smiles.

"We will have to assess the true nature of this world - Niciel." he responds. "The volatility of that which appears insignificant to a god is decieving." Lifprasil explains.

Despite Lifprasil's words, Niciel felt it was appropriate. Rather than a weapon that would take lives, it would be armor to save a life instead. And possibly many more, if Lifprasil chose the right path. However, Niciel felt that something was missing. Something that was very important. Then she realized. Niciel turned to Vulamera and asked, "Vulamera, would you be so kind as to grant the armor sentience? I would prefer to do it myself, but sentience is your domain, not mine, and it would be good for Lifprasil to listen to a voice of kindness."

Vulamera, currently choosing to remain in her natural form, still existed everywhere within a roughly fifty foot radius. In concordance with this, her voice could not be traced to a particular spot or point-of-origin, no matter how carefully one may listen. "Zephyrion, you could learn from this one. She does not demand, nor threaten, nor brutally claim superiority. Yes, Niciel, I would be happy to oblige your wish."

A distorted shimmer appeared to the left of the Demigod, the air first blurring, then warping entirely into a violet, thick mist only a few feet wide. "Lifprasil, reach your hand into the fog, but be warned: do not let that foul blade touch what lays within."

Lifprasil manages to order the blade to wrap around him - like a belt it swirls around his naked waist, being without a sheath. He nods with a solemn expression, extending his now free right hand into the mystifying substance his mother had suspended in front of him. "What strange forces the gods create..."

"This is hardly my doing. Do you know of the Codex of Creation? You may not recognize the name, but its aura must surely feel familiar, for I believe that it touched your mind even while you were in my womb. I give a small piece of its infinite power now to you."

On Vulamera's cue, the dense fog was allowed to be swept away in Zephyrion's vain winds. Left in its place was The Book- that library of all this universe, with Lifprasil's hand firmly resting on it's ancient but power-soaked surface. It hovered there effortlessly, being held by the Mother's invisible grasp.

Lifprasil gasps - already being reunited with the guiding force that had elevated him to maturity so quickly.

The Codex, several feet long and twice as thick, was opened to one of its many millions of pages- for it defied all reasonable physics, so could carry as many pages as needed without expanding. Vulamera stared intensely at it from all directions, soon realizing that it had predicted her will and opened to one of the chapters of Vulamera's own design, regarding sentience stored in inanimate divine constructs.

The eldritch symbols marked on the page began to glow faintly orange, but quickly became brighter until the whole of Vesamera's hand was consumed in the pale light.

It happened. Spiraling strands of pure divine power leaped off the page, wrapping themselves around Niciel's gift. They wound tighter, then tighter, then tighter, until they fused entirely with the yellow armour. A shudder ran through it from top to bottom as the power of sentience shook it, and let it feel thought for the first time.

A new voice ussured forth, not physically but mentally, resonating in the minds of all near. "I think... therefore, I am." The armour itself had spoken.

"I have given it sentience, as well as a personality mimicking the intentions of Niciel. It will be protective, merciful and kind, ever urging my child for to shelter the innocent and pardon the transgressors. It will make her a kind Queen."

In grateful silence, Lifprasil lowers her head to Vulamera - his already hooded eyes closing entirely in hapful litany. The serendipidity of the Codex did not last, however, as Lifprasil drew his attention to Vestec.

"Even younglings must defend themselves. Surely you recognize this, Goddess of Purity." Vestec turned his attention Vulamera. "Vulamera, dear, mother of my child, can I have the smallest sliver of the Codex of Creation to give our son's sword sentience? Having a voice only of mercy and kindness is just as bad as having a voice only of vengeance and hatred. He will need both to balance himself."

Niciel's disapproving look turned into a glare, but her voice remained calm. "There are far better ways to protect oneself than with a vile tool like that. Such a thing looks as if it would turn on its wielder if given the chance." Niciel also wanted to object to Vulamera and prevent her from giving Vestec anything to manipulate, but even Vestec's words held a trace of reason. Mercy and kindness would only go so far to protect you.

A suffocating sigh echoed through the air. "Very well, Vestec, but I will be watching you. Do not abuse this privalege."

A small fraction of a fraction's fraction of paper tore itself from The Book. It was minuscule in size, barely able to fill a mortal's hand, but it would serve Vestec's claimed purpose. It levitated into the Devil's greedy grasp even as the Codex snapped shut and vanished back into Vulamera's subconscious, where no more of its wisdom could be taken.

"I presume that you will infuse the blade with your own chaotic, destructive intentions. This is fitting. As you said, he needs balance, and a voice of power may well aid him in situations where mercy would prove a weakness. It will him a strong King."

"You know me so well. Of course, you were just in my head."

"Aye, and a terrifying place it is, though interesting."

Vestec giggled, taking the small piece. He immediately fused it with his own essence, extending a hand towards the Urumi Chaos energy shot from his hand and imbued the sword with sentience and a bloodlust. It wouldn't be sheathed until it had been blooded.

"He will be a conqueror, Vulamera dear. Then we will see if he can be a king."

"I'm surprised you're aware of the distinction, Vestec dear." Her voice was mocking, but far from cruel. "I am concerned for Lifprasil, however, for these conflicting voices. They may teach him balance, or they may simply drive the poor part-God to insanity. It will not be easy to learn from two beings that always contradict. They lack unity, therefore they must be made to have it."

Vulamera's area of influence shrunk down to a human shape, tightening into a solid flesh. A spin of light, a swirl of magic, and she was once more the decaying old scholar, carrying a quill in one hand, the Codex in the other, and a fatal, gaping wound on her head.

The form had varied this time. Encasing her injured head was a decorative crown. It was carved with golden snakes, their serpentine bodies set with fine amethyst. A star, entrapped by 4 crescent moons, adorned the peak of the crown. It radiated psionic power to such a degree that a mortal could not even lay a finger on it, unless he desired to be plagued with madness.

The image of the Mother had varied slightly this time, for encasing her injured head was a decorative crown. It was carved with golden snakes, their serpentine bodies bordering flawless amethyst. A star, entrapped by 3 crescents (one for each of Vulamera's personal moons), adorned the peak of the crown. It radiated psionic power to such a degree that a mortal could not even lay a finger on it, unless he desired to be plagued with madness or fatal brain hemorrhaging.

Vulamera bowed her head to remove the jewelry. Clasping it in one of her withered hands, the Goddess made a strange twirling motion with her free index finger, seeming to bless it in the process.

It vanished from her, only to rematerialize moments later upon her child. It resized itself to fit his head perfectly- just strict enough to never fall off accidentally.

"I desire you to use your own powers as much as possible, but if you cannot control your gifts on your own, use this. I name it the Crown of Fealty, for it will channel my mental power directly to you, enabling control of your subjects. Should Vestec's blade refuse to be sheathed, for example, the Crown may force it do so.

"If any mortal or God is foolish enough to attack the Daughter of Mind and Son of Chaos, it will also paralyze your enemies, or strike them with brain-death, or even force them to obey you. Again, excersize your own abilities when possible, but do not hesitate to rely on mine if you fear. Keep it with you as a safeguard, for moments where your powers may not succeed."



Lifprasil nods, having drawn his attention back to his mother, and again the silent prince opens his mouth. "Balance... Is key." he states, the symbolism having granted him the revelation he'd been searching for throughout the conversation. [color=orange]"What is a vassal of balance without an inferrence between King, Queen, and Conqueror or Conqueress?"[color] Lifprasil asks, his rhetoric becoming much more dual-sided.

"Balance- my point exactly." The amethysts set in the Crown of Fealty pulsated brightly with each word Vulamera spoke. "You must find the place inbetween the Chaos and Mind that together make up your existence, therefore my Crown may benefit you, though you will still need to learn much on your own. Listen to Zephyrion when he teaches you, heed my words when you hear them, but never forget to think deeply on your own."

Trinkets and baubles abounded for Lifprisil, it would seem. Zephyrion had half a mind to offer something of his own, but then he realized that it was gift enough for the newborn to have the rare opportunity to bask in the presence of a Supreme Being. The intent behind Lifprisil's asking him to kneel was entirely lost upon the god; of course a giant had to stoop low to touch an ant.

Already Zephyrion could see that he had much work ahead of him: educating Lifprasil on the failings and utter ineptitude of his mother would be difficult, what with the jarring cognitive dissonance that he would surely feel. In any case, he was already weary of Vulamera, Niciel, and strangely enough, even Vestec. He had promised that they would leave as soon as Lifprisil was ready, but now Storm's King grew restless and he decided for Lifprisil that this ordeal was over. Such was his right, now that he was the demigod's guardian!

"Yes yes, now fix this atrocity that you have wrought upon the land beneath my skies, and begone! You are forgiven for past crimes, but do not try my patience further, Vulamera," he suddenly proclaimed, saying nothing to the others in attendance yet the implication being that they too should leave. "This seems to have drawn to a close; it is nigh time that I bring you to your new home. I think you will find my little redoubt in the heavens suitable; in solace so high above the world, it is easy to appreciate the simplicity of life and reflect upon one's self."

Slowly, Lifprasil turns his head up to Zephyrion - having stooped back to the floor below to gather his gifts. "I would like to take a third of the creatures beset unto this world by my parents - I will use what I learned from the Codex of Creation to manufacture great warriors that will encircle me and guard my dream so that it may live on forever. They will be my own children, and in this endeavour they will show the world what balance truly is." he states lowly, explaining the first plight in his plan to his new mentor.

"Simplicity of life, Zeph?" Vulamera chimed in. "Life is only simple if you fail to think about its complexities."

Despite her view of Zephyrion, the Shadow of Revelations thought it fair to heal what small damage had been done to his land. A wave of purple, watery substance seeped out of the cracks in the desert floor, washing clean any lingering residue of Vulamera's influence and returning the enviromment to its state before she arrived.

"Go now, my Lifprasil. I will teach the new species I created so that, when you are ready to take up your destiny as a King and Queen both, they will be ready for you. I name them the Lifprasilians in your honour, though they may more often be dubbed the Insidie by myself. I will take a third of them under my council, and teach them to be creative and clever, artists and tacticians. A third will be left to Vestec. But when you come to claim your empire, daughter and son, I will turn all mine over to you, their rightful ruler."

"I thank you mother, their herald will return in due time." Lifprasil says with a gracious curtsy - befitting of her more feminine side.

"In many thousands of years, we will return." whispers one of the lopsided facets of Lifprasil's personality. Vulamera finds, curiously, that with each lengthier gaze into its eyes, she gets a sense of familiarity similar to her venture from before...

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the liquid and Vulamera both vanished, and no trace of her remained. It was as if nobody had been into the desert at all.

In studious silence, Lifprasil nods up to Zephyrion "Take me and my guard to your palace... There is much to be done."

"Life-deer?"

Allure cocked his head to the side, white teeth gleaming in the fitful torchlight. In front of him, the hain shivered in terror. How could it be that something so comely could harbor such maleficence in his heart? It seemed a rebellion against the very nature of the mind. Hyoban was his name, and he endeavored to press himself more flatly against the home against which he found himself pinned by the handsome stranger. Of course, the interloper had not laid a single finger on him; his intense interest alone secured Hyoban in place against the building. It was his building, in fact, and until recently the cluster of similar structures that surrounded it had been his village. Now, though, there stood only the man.

And an intrigued look upon his sublime features proved to be horrifying to Hyoban. "What an odd turn of phrase. You call out to it as if it were a god. But animals are not gods. Tell me more." Ever so slowly, he knelt.

Hyoban's involuntary shuddering increased. "A big deer...half alive and half dead...the elders spoke of it. They said that the rot that streams from its body makes living things come from the ground." Before his eyes, the face of Allure transformed into one of angry consternation, and he gazed out into the distance. Hyoban jumped in surprise.

"A misshapen freak from whose decaying chunks more freaks arise!? This is most distressing news To think that not only does such incorrigible ugliness live on this world..." he turned and winked at Hyoban. "Such as yourself, but that somewhere there totters a living factory of it! I am... -hurgh!- hard-pressed to not hurl in repulsion." Gingerly, he wiped the back of his hand against his lip, as if cleansing an imaginary befoulment. He returned to his full height, holding a his other hand behind his back. With a sorrowful frown on his face he allowed his mind to wander, rifling through what knowledge he had of the divine. Deep within his scarlet heart, he held a splinter of each god whose presence in the Deepwood enriched the flowerbed from which he arose. Without difficulty, he could call forth a rudimentary knowledge about the likes of Zephyrion and Ull'Yang, Teknell and Jvan, but for the life of him he couldn't envision a deer god. Perhaps the beast does not have the true aspect of a deity; after all, deities are characterized best by their egotistical and meddlesome nature.

"Um?"

As if just now noticing the existence of Hyoban, Allure cast him a disinterested glance followed by a sneer. "Oh, you. Yes, yes, I'll let you go." Before the sentence had finished, the unfortunate hain lay in vertical strips, neatly folded to the sides. So short had Allure made the projections of his discerning hand that blood dripped off his fingers. Curiously, he lifted them up to eye level, and rubbed his fingers together. "To hell, you little monster, if the gods every get around to making it. You don't deserve to be called sentient." Disdainfully he flicked the blood off his fingers before he whirled around. His sash flapped up like a silken tornado as he began to run, though he took utmost care to avoid soaking his woven shoes in the blood of Hyoban's sixteen closest friends. The purification was complete--save for one finishing touch. On a nearby hill, Allure flipped around, and extravagantly flourished his hand. As if smited by the invisible blade of a colossus, every building in the village split apart in same stroke, and from the destroyed torches fire raced forth to engulf the tiny settlement.

Allure sighed. "Pitiful, really. The mind is a glorious thing; why waste it on such miserable, loathsome cretins and set them free to erect shabby shacks on a perfectly good savannah? This is why I am needed." He turned to continue on his way, and instead encountered something that made him freeze in shock.

Before him stood a rectangular length of canvas, standing up straight a few feet in front of him. Upon it was depicted a glistening, pretty thing of immaculate whiteness. Nothing upon which Allure visited his eyes thus far could capture the sheer otherworldliness of this painted being. His eyes pored over every centimeter of her heavenly wings, every strand of hair, every crease on her face, and every curve of her body. His imagination ran wild. For a moment, Allure could almost believe that this maiden was real.

But it wasn't.

A longing sigh escaped his lips. There was beauty in the application and movement of color -and what colors they were! He could not even describe them- but who could fall in love with paint on cloth? What was there of an object to adore? What physical sensuality? What fascinating mind? Had the hero of beauty a house, he would gladly adorn its wall with this work of art, but he lived in the whole world. Resting his head in his hands, Allure turned aside and walked around the painting. A bright glow bid him look skyward, and there, in the gathering night, he witnessed a beauty that made his heart beat.

Though the distance that separated them was tragically long, Allure felt as if he had been privileged with the sight of an angel--one far beyond the painted angel he left behind. From here, he could just begin to catch a glimpse of tender pale skin like the edge of the moon, enticing hips, and long, thin braids of hair. Realizing he'd forgotten to breath, the stunned man hacked. Yet Notte continued to recede, and he reached out for her, crying, "Wait!" Suddenly he fell, stricken, to his knees; the thought that this magical girl would be nothing more than a fleeting, wistful memory to haunt him forevermore assaulted him. Agonized by this despair of loss, he threw himself to his feet, his heart roaring, and jumped. Like a bullet from a gun he shot upward after Notte, and once he judged himself within appropriate distance, he called.

"_{Pardon me madam I realize this must be sudden but I have been} touched by your beauty and struck by love and so if but for an instant I plead _{that you descend and speak with me~! Goodbyeeeeeeeeee!}"

His momentum failing him, Allure plummeted to earth. Though he knew the fall wouldn't kill him, he nevertheless felt compelled to forego proper landing form and crash, like a lovesick boy having thrown himself in despair from a great high, to the ground. Even in the grip of a sudden crush he took delight in the dramatic.

Being on her way to Jvan, Notte had not noticed any of the odd turn of events that happened around the painting. Ilunabar's orders had been clear, she had to do it as fast as possible and with the least interaction as possible. The diva did not even know anything about the person, even if she could sense that he was far above the average mortal. That all changed however when a voice echoed trough the skies.

"Huh!?" Notte gasped in surprise, at first shocked to see another humanoid being in the night sky, the shock turned into dread when she saw that it was the man from before. She could already see Ilunabar's disappointed gaze upon her. Them the dread turned into a lot of confusion when she heard what the person had to say.

"Love?" she whispered to herself. One side of her was still annoyed that she had messed up such a single task, yet, she felt a bit warm, and a smirk crossed her face. Ilunabar had made the portrait expecting it to be one of the most gorgeous of her works, to see that she could easily outshine the thing and make the man follow her instead was very delightful.

With a loop in the air her image split in two, like the reflection of a mirror, the clone would move on to Jvan. "A god like her would not even notice the difference between it and I," she thought. Meanwhile, she decided to float down and check on the odd man. "Maybe I could perhaps still salvage this chore," she thought, and she knew exactly how much of a lie that was.

The man was laid on the ground yet clearly breathing. Notte stared at him a bit, getting to understand a bit the why of Ilunabar's need to steal humans from Arcon. "Are you fine? This was quite a fall" she said casually. From afar she had only seem his looks, closer to him however it was his aroma that caught her attention. Above all things, it was fragrant and strong, she knew the perfume, Meimu also had it, but there was a critical difference, hers was dry, like fallen petals, his however was wet, but not the like humidity of fruits, those were still, this one was pulsating. Closing her eyes she could let the aroma lead her other senses, her eyes saw nothing but scarlet and a metallic taste of iron with hints of salt could be felt. "How mysterious! But how could I question this? Starting with you smell like my sister is far too awkward"

A profound satisfaction stirred Allure's heart to see the fair maiden descend, honoring his hastily-constructed wish, and float nearby a little off the ground. Yet he could not rouse himself to move--he seemed paralyzed. From the front, this girl appeared to be the very essence of incogitable beauty. Her skin and hair brought to mind the waifish elegance of the weeping willow, but despite her slender frame she did not lack the robust essential feminine characteristics universally associated with beauty and vitality. Even in the smallest, most intricate details of her face, hair, and clothes filled Allure with inspiration! Perhaps most intriguing about her was a quality he could best define as assuredness. Clearly, this girl was so confident in her beauty that she felt no need to be extravagant, bombastic, or superficial. Like a moonlit sea, she could easily, Allure imagined, have untold depths. He felt that he could throw himself into a well and die happy as long as he could envision this Venus.

Her voice, when it came, was bright but simple. and Allure thought it appropriate. Why put up a show of sultriness or approachability if one held complete confidence in themselves? Grinning as he lay in his little crater, the hero of beauty raised his hands and with great strength slapped the earth to send himself flying. He vaulted over Notte's head, coming tantalizing close for a split second, twisting like a corkscrew as he flipped, to land perfectly upright opposite her. "Fine? I, madam, am ecstatic! I have been on this world but a few days, and within it have found so much deplorable ugliness that I had begun to lose hope in the providence of beauty. How foolish I was, yet how enraptured I am to find that my faithlessness was misplaced! Even now I can scarcely believe my senses. Even my eloquence cannot capture your elegant gorgeousness, as if anything ever could!"

He fell to one knee, holding a hand with fingers splayed against his chest, while the other lay pressed against his head, as if he were about to swoon. "I can mince my words no longer. I am head over heels for you. But I do not even know your name...?"

Another one of Notte's satisfied grins crossed her face, this one so intense she closed the eyes to bask in all the joy that the words brought to her. "Of course you should feel like that! Considering I'm a pupil of the very goddess of beauty only a blind man would find me anything but gorgeous, actually, even the blind can probably see my beauty" she thought, of course not saying such rude words, unlike with her sister, she had no intention of annoying the passionate man.

"I too am more than pleased to see a sight of lively beauty in this barren world. Oh! What is the worth of vibrant flowers and radiant stars if there are no artists to be inspired by them!" she too was taking a theatrical path with her movements and voice, raising her arm up and then closing her hand "To hear such impassioned words spoken with a delicate and lyrical eloquence where before only the cacophony of nature exist brings me hope too" her hands rested on her knees and she inclined forward a bit, getting a bit closer to the kneeling man "My name is Notte."

A merry laugh escaped Allure's lips. "Not? Not what? Not flawed, that much is for certain." He appeared highly pleased with his little joke. With a little hop, he returned to a more normal stance, though even that reeked of flamboyance. "No doubt you are curious about me as well. Perhaps you think: who is this strange man whose handsomeness, extravagant and rugged, is the perfect equal but opposite of my own unshakable grace?" he presumed. "Well, sweet maiden, my pleasure to introduce myself is only surpassed by my pleasure to be in your presence. Behold!"

He span on his heels and pointed into the distance, where a great stony arch arose from the savannah. Holding out a finger, he quickly and precisely drew a series of lines and curves in the air. The far-off arch suddenly chiseled itself, spelling out in colossal text a series of letters. In only a moment, the land formation read, in stylish capitals, 'ALLURE!' Beaming, the hero looked over his shoulder, and once again became enchanted. "Aha! And there we have it. I am sure that a certain know-it-all would say that our chance rendezvous is Fated, so aligned are we in beauty." He lapsed into silence as he turned partways around.

Notte forced a smile, on the time he first compared him to someone as high as her all of her curiosity incorporated a new-found bitterness, by the end of his show she started to even regret the encounter a bit. "Oh! Allure, I see" she clapped her hands faintly "My curiosity goes a bit beyond however. I highly doubt that such a charming man could have ever been born from the randomness of nature" she was truly curious, Ilunabar had not given even the smallest of details about this odd person.

Snickering, Allure replied, "Too true. Nature played a small part in my...hm, how shall I put it? Perhaps, 'manifestation'. I arose from a splendid red rose, somewhat like these embroidered designs on my fauld." He indicated the forest-green cloth he wore about his waist, which lay on top of baggy, silken, purple pants and beneath a scarlet sash. "But I am more than that. In this man you see a culmination of many of the beings who style themselves gods. Let me see if I can name them all...I have the stamps of my unwitting progenitors on my soul, but never have I seen their faces. Astarte, Teknell, Zephyrion, Realthos, Jvan, Illunabar, and Ull'Yang, I believe. I am some of the best parts of all of them, if not the most powerful, though I do hope that will change. Dimly I recall my rose flourishing in a special spot in a great forest, even as its uglier neighbors fittingly died around it." He slightly cocked his head as he smiled a dazzling smile. Trace amounts of the unhappiness of Notte had reached him, and it made him curious.

All the flow of new information made the diva get a hint of headache. How could it be? There was no way her lady master would create a being without warning her and Meimu. She did hear however that the shrub where Meimu was born later died out thanks to all the divine energy flowing in the forest. Perhaps the person in front of her was a mutation born from the mess. "I knew I could sense the aroma of flowers, roses, when near him," she mused.

"You do not happen to remember a white rose no?" she questioned, but for a reason or another she felt like talking about her could jinx it, after all, it looked like all the sorts of flower people had an intense need to make her life miserable. "Oh sorry, I was just thinking aloud, we have better topics to talk about..." It was hard to think something though, his comment about being the best part of their lady master made her body burn with anger, and Notte was quick to notice that she had committed yet another mistake, as the man was now looking at her with inquiring eyes.

"Ah! I just, feel a bit odd. As if my body is burning" Half-lies were always the easiest lies to tell, or at least that was what Notte thought "Do you happen to know anything that could be refreshing in this region?" This was a bet, her wits were completely useless against such spontaneous person, but if by chance he would make this as extravagant as the way he told his name perhaps she would have to time to sneak out of this mad encounter.

Befuddlement crossed Allure's face, turning a sunny smile into a pursed frown. The signals of discomfort continued to emanate from Notte, both spoken and silent, however she tried to mask them. Forget her feelings; her behavior seemed unequivocally odd. Was she not as intoxicated by his beauty as she of his? Failing to acknowledge his perfection was an unsightly error. "Refreshing...? I know of no features in this land that might avail you." He paused, eyes shining in the gathering dusk. "This burning, though. There is no better descriptor of passion. Maybe you have never felt love before. If you have doubts, however, I will not impinge upon you. A rose is all the more beautiful after it blossoms. I do think, however, that the balm for your burning is right beneath your nose." He chuckled, and gave Notte a wink. "I can tell you want to leave. Go. And keep me in your heart. I know we will meet again." Allure bowed, holding a hand out in front of his face as a request to kiss her hand farewell.

Like a mirror that shattered, Notte's mind was getting more and more confused as she interacted with the man. One side of her was burning with hate, with the desire to wrap her hands around this fool and make him stop saying those thing. One side was still bound to her honor, to her missions, to the radiant, even if fake, smile she was supposed to have on her face. There was even one of these small shards of sides that still held to the first impression she had of the man, finding his eloquent voice and extravagant actions cute and his face, his lips, attractive.

"I'm sorry Allure, I do not feel well right now, the tune of my mind is in a pesante mood." she offered her hand for him to kiss. A distant smile on her face hiding the many questions crossing her mind, questions perhaps that not even her lady master Ilunabar would know how to answer.

A moment passed while the full lips of Allure rested on Notte's hand. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was full to the brim of feeling. Then he drew away, slowly and delicately. "You are forgiven. Only we can know the pain of being too strong and too beautiful. Farewell! Forget me not." He strode past her and away into the coming night, receding through the melodic swish of grass.

"Why is my mind so full of doubt? I do not understand, this is just straying me away from my tasks" she pressed two fingers against her forehead, however soon something caught her by surprise, it was a sweet and dry aroma. "Meimu!" she yelled, turning around to see her older sister sitting over a rock, the portrait she was supposed to deliver folded on her hand, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Oh my poor sister, so young, so confused" there was a time that she had the same problem as Notte, but it was a fact she would have to find by herself. "I could perhaps give you a bouquet of flowers, but what should it contain? The prideful amaryllis? The suffering marigold? Or perhaps even the primrose and its eternal love" she clapped her hands and jumped out of the rock, spinning in the air as if she was dancing under the moonlight.

"You have never acted this lowly before. Why all the vivace? Do you take pleasure in seeing your sister going trough trouble?" Notte asked, staring her sister with a pout and then sighing.

"Oh no no, you misjudge my joy. I just saw a very interesting flower today, one that was not crafted solely by Slough's impulses or my interventions. I do not blame you for not seeing the potential, but truly, an artist must be distant from his work yet always be ready to fight the good fight for the sake of greater beauty" she skipped across the fields and grabbed her taller's sisters hand with a bit of newfound authority "But worry not, you are young, barely older than mortals, these realizations will come with time"

That didn't help Notte's mind at all, but at least her sister's actions gave her a new wave of determination to seek out a solution for her current disorientation, even if only to make the small framed Meimu stop acting like a parental figure.

For an impossibly long time something had been bothering Reathos. Like a fly was buzzing around him. And right when he could grasp it, the insect was gone. He kept looking through his mind for the answer. What had he forgotten? What did he miss? Or rather, what could be happening that he did not see? He knew his brothers and sisters were fast at work, making their own creations. Not always in harmony. With his mind he went through his Cursed Crows. Witnessing deaths with smiles, and screaming murders covered in blood. It was all the same to him. For a moment he saw Vestec. The dangerous god of corruption. Creating a variety of creatures, but each with certain shared features. They were no doubt sentient. But most of the things looked far less bright than Toun’s Hain. Another crow a little later noticed the creation of the Empire race. The things were made in a clever way, and the touch of Vulamera was evident in them. But nothing, not a single thing, looked out of the ordinary. Which meant that something was very much out of the ordinary, but he just didn’t see it yet. Something had been breaking his rules, and he would find out what.

Be it luck, or fate, he did not know. But in his crow form he carelessly flew towards the Deepwoods. After all, even god should be allowed to rest from time to time. He had literally all the time in the world. With the murder that always followed he landed on a branch near the Eenal Tree. For a god, time means little. Years passed as if they were seconds sometimes. But Reathos found himself within the dense forest at just the right time. It was deep autumn. Red and orange leaves decorated the trees that would soon die. Though the winter dead of a tree was far less harsh than other creatures’ ends. When the long cold passed and springtime approached, the bare trees would awaken from their slumber and grow once more. It was a far more gentle cycle to Reathos. Trees did not scream or beg like creatures did. Maybe that was why Slough dictated that trees would die and be reborn in an endless cycle of growth? He could not know. The workings of the goddess of life were an enigma to Reathos. She made mistakes, and he rectified them. As with the Heraktati. But she did far more things right. Seemingly without effort. While Reathos had to take real time and effort to carefully construct his apex predators.

As he looked how the animals below gathered food for their nests the first drops of snow fell from the clouds. Soon a very thin, white blanket of snow covered the ground, the plants, and the Eenal tree. Which was the only one remaining beautifully green surrounded by bare branches. The white of the snow made Reathos remember the Avatar of Illunabar. White as a rose. A happy memory, which brought him to realization. With a haste only capable of a god he took off. With purpose that could only be leveled by gods.

The caves were a labyrinth. Mortals would sooner die than find their way out. Leave alone that they would manage to find the Wraith Stone. In his crow form he swiftly went through the corridors and twisting tunnels. Until he came before the entrance of a green glowing cave. Midflight he turned into his True Form. In the middle of the hall stood the proud black obelisk. Around it were layers upon layers of different kinds of greens. All souls. Before it stood the Black Throne. Upon which the Chained One sat. For all the time that Reathos, or any other living being, was absented the Avatar looked like a lifeless corpse. But upon its master’s arrival, the thing slowly came to life and looked up. Reathos, his mind linked to his own fragment, now fully understood what was annoying him for so long.

“Bring before me the souls of those who were not born on Galbar.” He demanded from his Avatar. Who dutifully, yet slowly, nodded. A few dozen chains shot from the ground up towards the Obelisk. Grabbing the souls and forcing them to take the form on they once had when they died. Eventually they were brought before the god of death. Many of them cowered. They did not look like Hain. Yet their general shape seemed to be the same. He approached one and touched its forehead with his armored hand.



It was the memory of this man’s death. But Reathos did not care for his end. He wanted to see which of his siblings were responsible for its creation.



An older memory, but not the right one. Once more did Reathos push deeper.



He pulled his hand away from the soul. “Brother…what are you doing?” Reathos asked himself. The memory had given him insight. It gave answers to questions he never asked. And made him ask even more questions he did not want. His brother had disappeared, such was true enough. And Reathos would not have cared if Logos merely vanished. But instead his brother was making a world for himself. Alone. Why?

He looked back at the cowering souls of man. So different they were from the Hain, the Empire or the Rovaick. Yet so much alike. Reathos knew that once the sentient beings started to develop themselves, natural predators would be less of a match against them. Even now he had seen glimpse of Teknall, hiding himself like a Hain as Reathos controlled a crow. Teaching valuable skills to several tribes. It would not take long before animalistic predators were outmatched by the intelligence of sentient beings. Reathos was put at ease a little by the idea that were several sentient beings already. No doubt races would fight each other. But just like with Slough’s life, he could not risk to trust his brothers and sisters. Their creations would be flawed. They would be given mistakes like mercy, and would err by desiring peace. And even if the sentient beings would fight each other constantly, it would only fuel their growth, destroying Galbar in the process.

His creations would bring balance through annihilation one day. They would purge Galbar, systematically but not thoroughly. Only the old had to die, to let the new grow. Eventually they would turn back to where they came from. To vanish once more. The design in his mind was growing more complex by the second. He realized that there were but few places so inhospitable to the creatures of Galbar that none would dare set foot there. Maybe he could put them underground. But no, even there his creations would be found. There was one place where none would dare come. But to survive there, his creations could not be natural.

On his way to the destined place of his creatures, he encountered one of Toun’s white giants. He had seen them before. And was always rather fascinated by them. They had no soul, never ate and were constantly walking without pause. And while they did not carry a soul, their True Name did float above them. It was made of odd symbols. Numbers. “Forgive me brother. But I must gain insight.” He whispered in the air, not really expecting Toun to hear. In his crow form he descended, and on the ground before the White Giant he turned into his True Form. With his left hand he merely had to click and a burst of green energy exploded from the creature. It dropped dead instantly. Reathos, with his powers, started to dissect the being. What fueled it? How did it keep moving through the ages? Eventually he found it. A siphon. The being didn’t run on food and water. It walked on pure magical energy.

Reathos took the siphon with him towards the southern tundra, together with a large murder of crows. The place was sufficiently cold at its core that no creature in his right mind would go here willingly. He dropped the siphon in the snow and ice beneath him and got to work. From the ice, stone and snow he fashioned several siphons. And for each siphon, he slew a crow and filled the siphon with its blood. The blood was marked by Reathos, and would serve the magical essence required to make the siphon work. Then he started working on the ice. Unlike clay, ice was much harder, and far less easy to sculpt. With force he had to cut out the humanoid shapes giving them 2 arms, 2 legs, a head, a body. Until he made several rows of frozen, ice statues. Their features were sharp and straight. With little room for anything that might be considered beautiful or fair. Instead they looked vicious and dangerous. They radiated a certain forceful menace. And again, for each statue he killed a crow, and placed the eyes in the frozen sockets. His creatures looked dangerous, powerful, and dreadful and it was not like he wanted them. They had to have a single softer feature. Just to make sure that they were not monsters. He turned the irises into the color of deep frozen ice. A dark azure one would rarely find in this world. After all the hard work, he took the creatures to the edges of the tundra, where there was still snow but also wood and other harsh plants. Each statue he gave a siphon, and waited. At midnight, they started to move. Reathos did not want his own creations to see him. Such thing would not be right. Gods had no business to directly meddle with mortals. And his creations, after all, were still mortal.

The initial response to their life was fear. It felt like they awakened from a coma into a world they did not know. Reathos witnessed this from afar. A jab went through him. It made him doubt his role. He was a destroyer after all. But just like with the Heraktati he started to care for his creations. The idea that they were still fearful of a world they had to dominate felt wrong. They needed guidance. A shepherd that would led them. If only for the first few years of their existence.

Among the confused beings suddenly a female collapsed onto the ground. Violently coughing and then even screaming. She was clawing at her own head, as if a force was pushing into it, uninvited. But eventually she stopped, stood up again and walked on. As if nothing happened. The group of frozen beings still looked at her, as she walked up towards a nearby rock. She had the undivided attention of all creations of Reathos, as she started to speak in a voice that was not her own alone: “My children. My brothers and sisters. Hear me now.” Through his god eyes he saw the true name of the girl. “I am Nimueh. But I am also Reathos. Your god, your creator. Through Nimueh, I shall guide you. Through Nimueh, you shall grow into a truly powerful race. I name you Pronobii. Children of Ice.”

And thus it came to pass. Reathos, controlling Nimueh, first taught them cryomancy. Just like the Heraktati, the Pronobii and all things Reathos’, the art was crude, powerful and effective. The Children of Ice had a clear talent, probably because their very being was coldness. Reathos pushed the talent of his creations further. The Pronobii, with the teachings of Reathos, made more complex shapes out of ice than spikes. Soon the first sword-like weapons appeared. Reathos pitted the strongest Pronobii against each other often. In duels that sometimes lead to the dead. A culture of constant fighting formed among the Pronobii living together. In return against the weapons, frozen shields were made. And Reathos’ Children dueled daily. For every dawn, Reathos through Nimueh, told stories about how they were destined to march across Galbar one day. They would march in glory of him. To fight the overabundance of life, so each sentient being would know its place once more. But to do so, they must be strong. So they must train. And train they did.

But as he guided his children, he could not forget the pure irony of what he was doing. Not just now. He had created life to kill life. Not once but twice. The Heraktati and the Pronobii. It had been enough for now. The animal kingdom had its apex predator, and the Pronobii would ensure that in the future the races of Galbar would not consume and exhaust the planet. He would have no need for more creatures for now.

A most perturbing sensation writhed inside the vaporous gut of Ventus. Maize's presence had not been unnoticed; the fibrous hairs and the unnatural energy that bound them let off peculiar drafts. Attuned to the air as he was and with a thousand nearby lesser elementals as his eyes, Ventus was not easily taken unaware. It was hard to hide from the sky.

The fibreling was of little importance, the djinni had initially thought. They were not all that uncommon across Galbar and the playful wind elementals had observed them before with no harm coming of it for either party. This one was strange, though. Where others might have been indifferent or merely curious when they managed to feel the presence of a spiryt, Ventus eventually came to realize that Maize seemed intent on relentlessly following them. Perhaps it was more than just a mindless creature? The diaphonous being descended from above with a rush of wind and revealed himself to this strange creature.

The elemental's shifting body played with the baleful sun and twisted the light in strange ways, the air itself scintillating brilliant as a prismatic gem. A small rush of wind and magic were pulled into the maelstrom that was Ventus, and then they coalesced until he was in his favored form once more: a disembodied gray-skinned humanoid torso, powerfully built and adorned with jewelry, with nothing more than a billowing cloud of black smoke where legs might have been.

His mouth opened and he prepared to address this creature, but then Maize seemed to shudder and the Vizier stopped short. He could only watch with muddled horror and fascination as a writhing mass of flesh emerged from the creature's innards and morphed into an organ of some sorts. The air itself hummed with energy; Ventus stood transfixed, expecting it to speak, but there was nothing but a pounding in his mind. Sometimes silence could be loud.

Then it came: Jvan's alien whispers echoed in his mind. Where his Master's tone was wild, harsh, and unpredictable, the one that now possessed him was melodic. It seemed to wind around itself and repeat in bizarre ways, creating an aberrant cacophony of beautiful unity in his mind. Where others might have felt horror, the elemental's eyes and senses were open to Jvan's otherworldly designs and did not reject them with spiteful disgust.

Her croon intoned him to bring Slough downstream. She promised reward, but even more motivating was the prospect of meeting with the being that possessed such creativity and beauty even in its voice. He determined to embark upon that quest and fulfill her will, but then his thoughts returned once more to Zephyrion, and that was the end. His resolute loyalty was as immobile as a mountain; he could not fathom betraying his Master's will, even for that of this one, and so it was painfully that he would deny Jvan.

He stood there dumbstruck for a long pause, though of course Jvan might have been able to feel exactly what tumultuous thoughts raged through his mind in that span. Apprehensively he decided to speak, for he was now growing slightly wary of this 'Jvan' whose nature his master had not seen fit to share with him. Still, he maintained politeness in every flowing word, for some small embers of that initial blaze of wonder still burned within him. "It is with sorrow in my heart that I must decline this sacred task that you charge unto me; it is Zephyrion's command that Slough be guided to the river valleys and then upstream to the barren wastes beyond. A thousand tears will be shed in the light of this missed opportunity, but time is forgiving to my kind, so perhaps chance will eventually lead me to your arms. Until such splendid futures may become the horizon before me, I must depart. But I leave with you my thanks and warmest regards; however now I must begone, for Slough wanders from my sight already!"

The djinni exploded into a puff of vapor that dissipated as he shifted once more into the form of a blast of wind, racing after the retreating forms of Slough and Esau, attempting to ever so slightly nudge their path and guide the pair towards the river valley.

When confronted with the tempestuous being once again, the two creatures did not regard him with distrust. Even though the part he truly played in its formation had been minimal, it was because of Ventus that the Resort existed, and that the agonized ghoul had been able to find a semblance of rest and recovery. Therefore, Slough decided to follow it, and Esau dutifully followed suit.

At length, they entered the river valley designated for them by Zephyrion. To the Rottenbone, the land appeared to be nothing more than another stretch of waste between two mountain ridges, albeit darkened by dark instead of the usual sand. A muddy river, deprived of microorganisms to sort silt from salt, parted it in half. Were Slough only a little brainier, she might have been puzzled as to why the Vizier led her here, but all she concluded upon confronting the unremarkable ground was that she would have to keep moving; the water would not refresh her, and no herbs lined the murky river's banks. No shade existed to comfort her. It was fit for no life but the new creatures of the air, who might glance upon it as they flew overhead.

With a snort mistakable for dissatisfaction, Slough turned to leave.

Blithely Ventus had followed the Rottenbone, pleased that she seemed willing to advance as he gently directed without objection or hassle. It had been with all to much ease, he had reflected, until at last they had arrived and she had simply turned to leave. No, no, no, this would not do!

Ventus scrabbled to quickly project his mind outwards, probing for the presence of any of his kindred that might be able to help. He sensed countless lesser spiryts, too weak to have voices or greater thoughts of their own, yet still they worked in unison for a greater objective. That was a sure sign that they obeyed the whims of another, more powerful one...it was with greater difficulty that the Vizier reached even further out and sensed the presence of a dust devil, the djinni prowling the dry sands some few miles away. "You who rage there across these lands with your minions, I request your aid! Come to me, at once!"

An answer whipped back through the dry air a short time later, "You speak to Torrid, Windlord of these wastes, and I do not recognize your voice! What being dares pester me like a fly, begging my aid? Speak, insect, lest I flay you with a sandstorm the likes of which you cannot imagine!"

He styled himself a lord? The wretched fool did not know his place; Ventus would not stand for the disrepect of this 'Torrid'. He roared back, "I am Ventus, vizier of the winds and Majordomo to our lord the Eternal Skies! You will do as I ask!" Ventus raced across the landscape to the form of the now terrified and apologetic spiryt, and after a short struggle he dominated the elemental and by extension, all those lesser spiryts that Torrid commanded. "Follow!" he commanded, and the dust devil chased after him along with a thousand small eddies of wind. With the power of the desert winds, perhaps Ventus would now be able to motivate Slough to stay by that river!

Torrid and his elementals created a vicious sandstorm in the distance that would slowly roll towards Slough and Esau. A few others whipped up dust in the air to shelter the river from the sun's glare. Faced with the prospect of weathering that storm or taking shelter in the shady banks of that river, the Vizier was sure that Slough would turn back and go where he directed. As usual, he flew in close to offer her a breezy respite from the desert sun, and at this point from the worst of the biting grains of sand. He nudged her back towards the shelter of the river, incase she didn't have the mind to seek it out of her own volition.

A turbulent sandstorm appeared out of nowhere for Slough, and its grains flew into the sockets of her eyes and beneath the loose flesh clinging to her bones. She thrashed around wildly, trying to eliminate the marauding particles, while Esau hunkered down against the ground and growled. A few moments passed before Slough, reminded by the prodding of Ventus, turned around with a throttled cry to gallop back toward the river. Esau followed suit, but his golden eyes observed what his master's empty pits did not: the suspicious correlation between a hurtful wind and a windy elemental. Nevertheless he put the thought aside, and accompanied Slough to the bank of the muddy river, where the decaying doe threw herself to escape the horrible, pestering, itchy sand.

Esau watched, his mask contorted into a visage of horror, as the brown liquid turned black. He bunched his legs like springs and jumped into the water, splashing filthy mud all over his red skin and spongey mane. Gingerly he opened his jaws and plunged them into the water. A moment later he began to move backward, and from the oily soup onto the dirt shore he dragged Slough's limp body, not unlike a hunter dragging its kill. As gentle as possible, however, he laid her down, and he whimpered as inky slop streamed from her skull. He paid no eye to the growing grass or the trees that sprouted like weeds. In his singleminded devotion he ignored the pods that swelled among the roots of tall, bendy trunks, and the water-loving land animals that emerged did not receive a single glance. So, they set to their work.

With their spindly limbs Spider Oxen plucked plants from riverside and riverbed alike. Little beasts with fur and scales both frolicked together, though one joined Esau in his vigil. Riverland Thanes slogged through the water, standing at about ten feet tall, on their hunt for fish, of which there was many. Distant relatives of the Fortress Reefbacks crawled slowly along the banks of silt along the river's edge, sucking less fortunate crustaceans straight from the ground. Finally, a new race of creatures, not completely dissimilar from the thanes, worked together to dig burrows in the riverside soul. They used sharp sticks to fish the river and to poke fruit from the branches. Yet none of this received Esau's acknowledgment, until the Rottenbone hacked and struggled to her hooves, filthy but sand-free.

The Crocody Doggle who had been waiting by Esau's side sprang to its feet and bounced around, snapping its teeth and yipping. Slough looked at it blearily. Sensing her attention on it, even if she had no eyes with which to stare, the doggle darted forward and clapped its jaws around her leg, yet her teeth were as soft as silk. For a few moments the doggle mouthed her leg, quiet and loving, before sitting back to pant and loll its tongue. Slough turned her head this way and that, not recognizing her surroundings

Ventus watched with some degree of mixed horror at what he had done to harm Slough as well as satisfaction at the success of his plan. Guiltily, he had joined Esau in doing what he could to aid Slough in her recovery and comfort the pained creature. Torrid had been sent away and the Vizier had done what he could to rid the vicinity of the clouds of dust and sand that remained in the air.

While Slough rested for soem time Ventus was left to observe the fruits of her pain and his labors; the deep river itself seemed to flow more robustly and glow a more vibrant saphire color, the strong blue contrasting the lush, emerald vegetation that had sprung up around its banks. The mighty river he saw fit to name the Mahd, and the lush region around it the Verdant Basin, or simply the Mahd River Valley. Regular and predictable floods of the eternally flowing river would keep the land fertile for all manner of vegetation and eventually farmland, while the constant supply of water would attract life from all corners of the parched Firewind Desert. Zephyrion would be proud!

Now, the Vizier only had to lead Slough upstream to the towering mesas, rugged foothils, and wild mountain crags. Once life had reached to touch those northern reaches, this part of Galbar would be made nearly complete.

No matter how long she spent watching it, Slough really had no idea how to react to the doggle. It ran around her with apparently boundless energy. When Esau grew annoyed by its yipping and held up a threatening claw, the doggle trotted over, jumped up, and likes his pawpads. For a moment it seemed as if the Custodian might growl, but instead the mouth of his white claw mask twisted into a grudging smile. Soonafter the doggle returned to Slough and executed a bow, demanding that she play. A memory stirred within her, and the Rottenbone consented to chase the little dog around for a few minutes, before the unsteady wobbling of her hips and their protesting creaks forced her to stop. Sensing her discomfort, the doggle rolled onto its back where Slough carefully laid down, allowing the ghoul to rest her skull on its furry belly.

Seeing that Slough was in neither mood nor shape to travel yet again, Ventus went against his previous judgement. It would not do to spur her onwards yet again; even now, the guilt of his manipulation with the sandstorm ate at him. No, he would let her have her rest until she was willing to move on her own volition. What was time to an immortal?

The breezy elemental amalgamated his chiffon body back into that shape of a humanoid djinni that he favored, so that Slough and her guardian would be able to see him more clearly. Daintily he crept forward to pet the two of them, hoping to bury any seeds of animosity that might have been sowed.

Ignorant to the machinations of Ventus, Slough did not flinch when the elemental appeared nor when he approached. As his hand drew near, however, the Vizier discovered a powerful, almost tangible aversion toward touching her body or head at all. Only a few seconds' puzzled observation led to a probable cause: the necrosis that coated the Rottenbone head to toe, while seemingly benevolent thanks to its lifegiving tendency, in fact contained other, malignant properties. The doggle, having gnawed on her leg like a chicken's drumstick, escaped the whimsically mutative properties of the rot; a touch of Slough's body, even with the ethereal hand of an elemental, promised to do unknowable damage.

After a few moments passed, Slough grew bored of waiting and began to walk off, following the delighted doggle as it romped between the tall, twisted trees. Esau's glare remained hotter than molten gold for a moment, but he then cooled off and turned to walk after his master. Evidently, if Slough were willing to forgive, and suffered no great harm, the Custodian would forget.

The passage of many bleak and long days saw the unusual group upstream with little event. Here the dune sea that was the Firewind gave way to rocky mesas and rugged foothills as one marched northeast to the Ironheart, or empty steppes and badlands as one approached the Changing Plains. It was in the more rugged region near the Ironheart that Ventus led Slough.

Here was where the source water of the great Mahd river welled up from the black depths of the earth or came down from the mountain peaks in glacial flows. The massive Ironhearts that were the spine of the earth were also so high that they barred the passage of near all wind, cloud, and moisture from the Sparkling Sea and beyond; the rain shadow effect left these foothills surprisingly wet compared to the nearby Firewind, but the other side perhaps as dry as the Firewind itself.

It was amidst the light sprinkle of one of these trapped rainstorms that Ventus brought Slough and Esau to a halt; they sheltered in the dry of a small, rocky overcrop at the slope of a hillock. They were still too far to see the Ironhearts, yet if they had only persisted a small time longer before the storm's coming, they might have seen those nearly plumb spines of rock rising on the horizon. Here was as good a place as any for life to find a foothold.

Ever patient, the Vizier softly spoke, "Dear Slough, perhaps you should find rest here. Be at one with your nature; seed this empty land!" Suddenly aware that as ever, Slough would remain ignorant to his attempts at communication, Ventus sighed as he awaited some sort of response. The flighty goddess had a tendency to be unpredictable to Ventus, even after so much time had passed with him in her company.

In the drizzling rain, Slough found an odd sort of peace. Inexplicably her body's rotting had nearly ceased, and the respite brought on by this unexpected, happenstance mercy impressed upon her a sensation tantilizingly close to joy. Even her skull sported new flesh, inching ever closer to normalcy. Sitting obediently beside her, the doggle thumped its reptillian tail in happiness, being empathetic to the Rottenbone's contentedness. Even Esau seemed pleased. A small but optimistic smile lay upon his mask.

Of course, the power within Slough did not merely fade away. In the manner of a cow's udder, all of the uncomfortable excess had been eked out, and this singularity of life essence existed in a sort of equilibrium. No might remained in it with which to effect the transformation of the wasteland into another haven for life...however, it still yearned to fulfill its purpose. The power itself inclined toward the fulfillment of wishes, of Ventus and Zephyrion both. It needed to create life. As such, even though the deer stood at peace in this rocky alcove, the power inside her began to move.

Her body, previously too full of life-essence, and now in a state of balance, suddenly swung toward too empty.

A tortured cry ripped itself from Slough as she convulsed. Something tore itself from the black pit of her eye; it looked like light, but rippled and crackled like lightning, all in a virulent shade of green. The Rottenbone collapsed like a sack of bricks, broken fragments of the skull around the eye-hole skittering across the stone. Esau thundered to her side, and began to murmur in a low voice to draw her streaming black blood back into her.

Ventus stumbled backwards in the air, nothing having prepared him for this nor for the shock that was to come. His panic was not so absolute that he failed to use his magic to do what he could to protect Slough; a sudden and violent burst of air heaved upwards from the ground to soften the blow when the Rottenbone collapsed.

The chaotic soul, meanwhile, flew out over the foothills in a mad dance, discharging blasts of destructive sorcery every second. Its path over the land grew more and more frenetic as the soul itself swelled, threatening to implode beneath its own tremendous weight like a dying star. It built to the point of no return, a roaring arcane terror, and crashed into a distant hill. Beneath the impact the earth shook, and a tide of green energy suffused the land. Unlike the soft, nurturing green witnessed around the miracles of Slough, however, this green sputtered, hissed, and steamed, like poison.

Except for these noxious noises, the land became swoddled in an eerie silence. Esau, the Vizier, and the horrified doggle all cast their eyes toward Slough and the far-off hill in turns, instinctively anticipating something breathtakingly awful. They were not disappointed.

A bloated shape appeared in the distance. The deer's companions fixed their eyes upon it. In mute fear they watched it squirm, lash, and spit. From its bile pools of toxins began to form, and on the banks of those pools plants grew. These plants displayed none of the norms established by Slough; they grew wild, in alarmingly bright colors, with vines and thorns and other bizarre shapes. Enormous flowers unfolded, pretty to look at, but hiding any number of deadly deceptions from poison gas to barbed tongues to hidden teeth. These were the first plants to eat meat. Creatures no less superficially beautiful but lethal stalked among the trees and shrubs. A jungle swathed the land, but one of venom, not vitality. None of the animals were completely novel; instead, the mutagenic pools frightfully altered existing creatures, like wasps, lizards, rats, and tigers, to suit the vividly perilous aesthetic. Mortals, natural or unnatural, would be changed should they be immersed in one of these pools. Be the mutations baleful or beautiful, they would also be imprinted with the stigma of natural life, and brought into Slough's domain. In a way, the Venomweald better represented Vestec and Zephyrion than Slough--indeed, it was not of her own doing.

For in the center of the Venomweald lurched its sovereign. A wondrous but accursed soul resided deep within it, and only rancor and hunger emerged onto its loathsome exterior. Mighty and capricious in its obscene and violent ignorance, this monster would lurk deep within the Venomweald to seeth for all eternity, spreading its corruptive, changing poison as far as it possibly could. Only the unforgiving bleakness of the desert held the Venomweald Writhe, the First Mistake, at bay.

But there was little to stop its horrid advance towards the one that had brought it into this agonizing and humiliating existence. Already the Vizier could sense impending doom as the Writhe thrashed through the jungle towards them.

Ventus shed his djinni body just like a snake might rub off its skin or Slough dripped her rot, and with what could only be described as the greatest breath he had ever taken, he pulled the nearby air into himself in a great vortex. He exhaled and let loose a blast of wind that rustled the leaves of every wild growth in sight, then breathed in once more. This time even a cloud fell victim to the inescapable pull of his winds, and he successfully and effortlessly lifted the life goddess, her guardian Esau, and the companion Doggle into the air. Their wild ascent might at first be terrifying and nauseating, but soon they would find themselves carefully and gently suspended within the eye of the storm, carried within the elemental himself.

Suddenly the Vizier spotted Maize, that little fibreling through which Jvan had earlier spoken to him. Still, it had remained with him throughout their long journey, usually some ways away but never too far. Its tenacity was remarkable and its master had been kind, so Ventus would do what was in his power to spare its existence.

The Venomweald Writhe was fast approaching even still, so the churning cyclone that was Ventus began a hasty departure. At the last moment the storm swerved towards the fibreling, though unless Maize jumped headlong into the grasp of those turbulent winds, she would not be enveloped quite enough for Ventus to sweep her into the air whilst he moved at such a pace. She would be left to fend for herself against the horrors of that jungle if she did not Maize chose to put faith in the djinni lord.

Regardless, with his newfound shape and the formerly walking band now soaring through the air, it was not long before they were safely out of the Writhe's grasp. Now that he had safety he would examine the Venomweald below and marvel at its savage beauty. Already the overgrowth was expanding and growing so thick that the plants choked out one another. It seemed destined to carpet and consume the entire expanse of rugged wilderness until it was met with the Firewind and the Ironhearts, though perhaps the outer parts of the jungle would be more hospitable than its heart.

The sun had not risen and fallen three times before Ventus had carried his passengers, no, his friends to the only place where he had thought to go: the mouth of the Mahd, where already a large and minerally rich delta was forming as it met the Sparking Sea. True to his promise, Ventus had done as Jvan asked so soon as time allowed him. Perhaps she would see fit reward him still or perhaps she would not, but in the end it mattered not. Ventus would work with whatever tools he had to see to grand completion the tasks set before him: the glory and delight in eventual success was reward enough in its own right. Such was his nature.

Since the incident in Venomweald, Slough had been comatose again. Esau burned with savage rage at the hurt and humiliation of his master, but with a heroic effort managed to contain his wrath to prevent the disembowelment of the hapless doggle, who despite understanding the situation the least somehow enjoyed it the most. When the motley crew arrived at the Mahd river delta, they were settled gently on the soft sand, and again, the two loyal companions waited, helpless but hopeful, for the awakening of their master.

Tular, Hain Villager.

Tular was working on a hut that had had a hole knocked in it. I appreciate the protection, but couldn't they at least just crush them rather than send them flying through our homes? He thought, somewhat grumpily, as he eyed the Urtelem walking around. The stone giants were welcome protection from the Ashlings and other predators of the Gilt Savannah, but sometimes they tended to attack first and think later. Such as when they sent a fleet footed mangler through someone's home because it was a little to close to the village. The protection was appreciated, certainly. The methods left something to be desired. However, as he wasn't being brutally torn apart by said mangler or being infested by an Ashling, he couldn't really complain. Still. It made him feel better to complain about it, and the time seemed to go faster when he had something to distract his mind while he was working.

That was probably why he didn't notice until it was too late.

It was the rumblings and sounds of violence that first drew his attention. The Urtelem he had glared at had long ago disappeared. A primal instinct told him that something bad was happening, and he should run and run far away. Of course, this being his home and he being sentient, he went to investigate and potentially defend. When he had wandered closer to the noises, mallet held loosely in his hand, a dome of energy covered the sky. It was clashing and constantly changing colors and the mallet fell from loose fingers.

He had heard the rumors of course. They all had. Hain villages being wiped out, nothing but bodies and devastation left behind. Mad giggling being heard for miles around a dome of clashing colors. But surely, surely that was something that happened to other hain, not him. Not his village. This is a bad dream. He decided. Something that slipped through Illunabar's grasp to haunt my sleep. I'll wake up in my bed, terrified, but none the worse for wear.Rather than waking up, he jumped at a voice roaring seemingly both through his mind and his ears.

I AM VIOLENCE, AND YOU WILL FIGHT!

A red fog of rage clouded over his mind, and the last thing he remembered was picking up the mallet. It was impossible to tell what happened or how much time had passed, aside from a few sensations. Something crunching beneath the blow of his hammer. Screams, whether from him or others he couldn't tell. Pain in his side as something struck him. When he finally came to his senses, he was standing amongst a group of other Hain from his tribe. They were all covered in blood, with various wounds and makeshift weapons in their hands. There were dozens of dead all around them, and the Urtelem were nowhere to be seen. Huts were destroyed and ruined.

A God stood before them. Tular had no doubt this faceless, color shifting, giggling being before him was a God. He radiated a power that Tular couldn't even begin to comprehend the limits of. "You're the strongest ones, hmm?" The God asked, before shrugging. "Very well. You'll do." With a hand gesture, Tular felt something inside of him snap and be changed. He blacked out from the pain.

When he next awoke, he was being prodded and herded by large, green, bipedal figures. Rovaick. Trolls. He automatically knew...somehow. They all carried stone spears, knowledge stolen from the God of Death's most recent creations. Tular resisted the urge to snarl and attempt to kill them for their impunity, held back by the sheer fact they outnumbered him and were likely far more experienced. There was a grinding noise all around him, and when Tular looked around he saw he wasn't in the Gilt Savannah anymore. He was in a blackened land that seemed to move around him, almost with a will of it's own. The Changing Plains. The thought slithered into his mind of it's own violation.

They were being herded past a strangely still part of the plains, and Tular almost stopped dead at the sight in the center of it. A couple of Brush Beasts were cowering down, bits and pieces of others of their herd scattered around them. A gigantic crow of Hain, Ashlings, and Rovaick were cutting off the exits, chanting. "Grot! Grot! Grot! GROT! GROT!" A giant, clawed, hand reached down and plucked one of the Brush Beasts up, and it's roaring terror was suddenly cut off by a crunch and sickening splatter sound as the parts that were not eaten landed on the ground. Terrified by what could be that size, Tular quickly moved on. Whatever lay ahead, it was certainly better than being eaten alive or left in his previous weak state of existence.

Bez, Forsaken/Chosen (depending on which side you ask) Rovaick Warrior.

Bez curled his lip at the latest recruits to be herded in. They were Hain, naturally weak. To make matters worse, they weren't naturally serving Vestec either. Unlike his tribe (and the other Chosen Rovaick Tribes), the Shattered Urtelem, and the Voren Insidie, they had to be forced to serve Vestec. The Fallen Angels, Sadist Pronobii, Heraktati, The Flesh Shapers (corrupted members of Jvan's flesh cult) and the Storm Djinni at least were strong enough to warrant being forced to join, but Bez could not figure out why the Hain were here. However, it was not his place to question. It was his place to obey, to listen, and to prepare for the day they left the Changing Plains and brought death and war to the rest of the world.

His grandfather had been there the day Vestec had returned, taking them away from their weak and pitiful brethren along with the Voren, and had witnessed the God grow in power before his very eyes, giving them knowledge and cleansing weakness from them. His father had been there when Grot had been created to lead them in glorious war. Now, Bez was sure, that he would be the one to see them fall upon the weak lands outside of the Changing Plains like a rampaging Brush Beast.

Bez bared his fangs in a vicious grin at the new Hain. Oh yes. There would be war in his lifetime. He would be on the frontlines as well.

youtube.com/watch?v=VAwLS2BzEbU

The Adversary: Slough Week

Run. Thud-thud-thud. Paw hits ground. Dirt between claws; good. Cold air through mouth and eyes; good. Rushing wild wind inside and bursting; good. Sun on back, dust in fur. Black heart beating, beating through skin and bone. Hard. Pain, pain but good. Power, raw endless power bursting through joints and coursing through ligament and burning in teeth and jaws and ripping through veins. More than he had ever felt before. More than any mangler had ever felt before.

Broken branch. Stirred bush. Footprint. Stop and nuzzle. Hain’s thick scent washes through him. The prey’s fear rolls deep in his flesh. Reeks. What a delicious hain this was. Sharp -- interest. Obsession piercing through his brain. HE MUST KNOW. He must see. He needed lusted hungered to know the prey. He wanted the hain’s whole being.

The hain quivering in his eyes now. Spear outstretched. The mangler roars with all his might. Lets the sound thump against his ribs. Pleasure. Run run fast run faster. Head down. Mouth shut. Like a flint-thorn. Muscles pulling, meat contorting. Hain closer and closer and wide-eyed and screaming.

White hot pain blazing through his right eye. Iron salt in his mouth, unbearable blood flooding down his gullet. His and the hain’s. He rears up, moves his head from side to side to flee the pain. He writhes and twists the spear out of his eye. Prey, standing spearless, frozen. Crush. He crushes the leg with his hardened jaw. The hain kicks him and crawls away, falls down the slope backwards. The pain grows. Blood still runs thick, hot ribbons pressing against his cheek. The mangler turns and skitters up the cliff and limps behind a rock, finds shade. The hain’s crawling grows distant. The ground numbs. He feels less and less and nothing. He sleeps.

A crack of light. An eyelid is half-open. Hunger. Unsatiated hunger. Open eye, he lets craving possess him. He stretches, tenses and stands through the agony. It was...impressive. The prey. It had never fought back so hard. The mangler felt a spark of something none of his kind had known before. He shifted, eye bulging, doing the work of two. Drinks the scent of the hain once more. Cherry Eater. That was his name. He had crawled far, far away. This was also impressive. The mangler had had to rest, but the hain had not. Time to run again. He contracted his burning muscles, raised his head, howled with all his wild might. Time to hunt again.

Thud thud-thud, thud thud-thud. Limping while charging because even now, with all the need, all the hunger, he could not bear that pain. But he would not stop. He would not retreat now, he would find his prey and finish it. Finish knowing all of him.

The sand grew dark Sun retreated, sky was black. The dust that threw up between his paws as he sprinted was like the webs that the bright-beast-that-bites-hot spat out when eating. And the new power he felt within him was greater than ever before. He was running, legs pounding at the ground, but he was not moving. No matter. Run harder.

But a hand grasped his muzzle and washed calmness through him. A terrible voice spoke. A language of meaning, not words. Its single letters punctured through the mangler’s mind and forced him to understand.

“I am sorry, Sloughling. You have done well, but your hunt must end here. Your prey has been tested, and he has broken. Don’t be sad -- failure is beautiful all on its own. But you didn’t fail, did you? You ran on. Despite the broken bones, the gaping eye. It would have been so easy...I have not forgotten you, child of my sister. I will raise you high, I promise. I will have use of you yet.”

youtube.com/watch?v=xG5EmRit0W8

Cherry Eater's Journey

Level 4: 7 Might 0 Free Points

The sun glinted somewhere between the canopy. The air was so humid it dripped. Cherry Eater took a deep breath and brushed aside the clinging vines and bushes. With careful steps he wandered, ear cocked to the jubilant calls of nature. Slate-apes whooping, birbs singing. Plantlife blooming. He raised a hand to stay the tide of dew and sweat that stuck to his face. The relative cool of the jungle floor was welcome, but the horned hain still sweltered. He tried not to think about it.

There had been a clicking for a while now. Clack click snip crack. It stabbed through the jungle miasma. It might be what he had been searching for -- he’d seen signs, leaves in his sleep and rivers running backwards. Grasping branches in his own reflection when he washed in mountain springs. Travel west, travel through the tall green trees. His king commanded, and he followed. Click.

He hacked at one last cloying vine. It was growing darker, deeper. The heart of the jungle. Little light dared to fall so far from home. It was silent…

Blood hung from every leaf. The sweet stench of death skewered through his nostrils, rot slithered on the tip of his tongue. Entrails were nailed to trees, slick liquids slipping slowly down to feed the earth. Bodies lay pinned to the ground with stones. Parts cut up. Clothes in a small heap, burning. Bony fingers skimmed up and down pink flesh, running flint shavings through ligament and tendon. The hands worked their way across hain backmeat and brain, snipping here, pinching there. Then they started stitching together. Part to part, flesh to flesh. Then nothing. The stitching cutter stitched and cut no more, and stood back to watch its art at play. The subject -- the doll -- shuddered and twitched, shaking against the ground.

“Interesting. As I thought.” The stitcher spoke without looking. “I put a hain’s head on another’s body. It seems Head Subject can control Body Subject.” The lurching doll shook harder and stopped. Its head was smashed against the stone floor. “Well, to an extent.” He looked up at Cherry Eater. “It is hard to tell what is the Head Subject and what is the natural shakings of the body.” Cherry Eater laughed.

“How is it that they move when dead?”

“That is simple. They aren’t dead.” He prodded the doll with a claw. “Or they weren’t. They always do that, you know. Kill themselves. It rather ruins the whole sport.”

“How...improper.” Cherry Eater walked deeper inside the jungle morgue. He picked up an arm. “You broke this.”

“Yes. It took some effort. Our plates are really pretty hard, you know? I suppose that is what happens when a maker god makes you. But! I now know their average hardness. For the tribe that lived here, anyway. It’s a small sample size. I was just about to move on again, actually; that was my last live subject.” The horned hain dug his leg of blood against the dirt. He wasn’t nervous, but...wary.

“You won’t try to use me?” The stitcher looked aghast.

“Good worldliness, no. You are the chosen of Mammon! The Adversary’s finest. How could I betray my lord like that?” Cherry Eater reeled. Now he had fears. It knew his name. It knew his master’s name -- his true name, his real name. He needed to know more. He needed -- he reached out and clutched the -- other’s face and drew it to his. Raked wide eyes across every crack and rivulet.

His face was twisted. In every sense of the word. The bizarre model of a hain’s head. But split in the centre. The prongs had spread outward. Now they grasped at the distant sun, two horns scraping against the silent sky. His eyes were vertical. His mouth jutted down, out, like a searching knife-- a beak to replace the horns. With a blink he reared his head away, stepped backwards.

“What are you.” The stitcher grinned. Cherry Eater felt a shiver of joy. A keening burst of interest. He tried to keep from vomiting.

“I am your master’s servant. I was once something not so different. An -- artist. Exploring another medium. But now I am -- he called us Goathead Magi. Do you know how we came to be? No? We ate. It’s part of our...drive. To experiment, aesthetically at the start. But it’s not enough. Never enough. We must be, as well as see. I ate the meat inside a young hain’s head. Others had sex. A lot of it. With a lot of...things. Some destroyed their work to feel it end between their hands.” He paused.

“I left a drink for you. In a shell, by the branch with the hand nailed to it. Yes, in the hand.” It was congealed red. Slow and stagnant, with lumps of black softness. “Blood of your kin mixed with maggots that fed on brush beast brain. It will fill your limbs with fire.” The horned hain -- the horned hain, champion of adversity -- raised the shell to his lips. His mind rebelled. But his blood...drew to it. Stroked against his plates. He licked the shell. Then the surface. He stuffed his face in the potion, gulping it, forcing it through a throat that would not swallow. The Magus had cocked his head when he lowered the empty shell. “It works, doesn’t it? That’s the materium for you.” He was right. Cherry Eater felt more awake than ever before.

“Come, follow me. I know another town near this one.” Cherry Eater was repulsed. At what the Goathead had done, at what he had drunk, about what he’d witnessed and about what he hadn’t done. How he hadn’t stopped the Magi. But...his feet still followed the Magus’. It was like a hook slipped gently through his rib plates, dragging him onward. To see what he could. To break what he could, like the dead hain’s arm.

As its creator moved on, the sculpture slept, unmoving but for dancing shadows that swept along the earth on the diurnal cycle it would follow for millennia to come.

It stood on sturdy legs of river-smoothed granite, boulders hauled from the mud to glint, sleek and grey, where the chosen forms of moss had not been planted into the painstakingly carved niches of its surface. The idol itself was of limestone, protected from rain-wear by a similar impregnation of lichens and clambering pygmy bromeliads, as was the platform on which it rested. Curvilinear in form. Scratched into shape so delicately it seemed to have slid into existence, stone made into calligrapher's ink. A three-dimensional rune, perhaps? Cubist ode to the shape of a summer cumulus? Clairvoyant imitation of the skeletal iron ruins of skyscrapers yet to come to this world? Every angle of viewing was unique. It was almost as refined as a living body, and it was one of many.

Not so very far beyond, a string of thin vines clicked and rang as the breeze played with the ornaments adorning it. Weeks had passed. Some had disappeared into the extensive trail of work that now filled the region, but they had been replaced by many more, gleaned from land and sea, and there was little unadorned space remaining around the First Sculptor's neck.

Gentle zephyrs played in the sand of this dune-flowing region south of the Shimmering Sea, and the Sculptor who had been Fishbones joined them, waltzing over the land in a path of flowing recurves. Its feet were sharply pointed claws, better adapted for the ice of the tundra or for finding purchase in the gravelly mountains or mangrove forests, but the Sculptor was not without options, and it folded its legs and slithered gracefully on with undulations of tails and belly.

Fishbones. Pale, flexible and strong. Supportive and sharp. It had still been a good name in Heartworm's eyes, long ago. The First Sculptor no longer applied such strict meaning to it. Names and pronouns were but a single leaf, growing, twisting, changing and eventually falling away from the grand eucalypt of an individual's identity. Fishbones? Male? Yes, Fishbones suited it well, today. Tomorrow, perhaps, would be different, or tomorrow, perhaps, would be similar. Life is a joy of many songs, and we must dance as we listen.

A hill. This one stood in virgin land, and the time was right, Fishbones knew, to consummate the intersection of inspiration and artist. Jvan would agree. Fishbones whistled to her across the ether, and Jvan sang back in kind, as a mother to a grown child.

A hill, yes; A unique and inseparable part of the terrain. This one was old, its soil eroded to expose porous limestone that Fishbones gladly chipped 'his' pointed feet into. Swaying rapidly to gain momentum, the Sculptor followed a helical path upwards, exchanging time for an exceptional panoramic view of the area. The bifurcation of a hain cranium had blessed him with not only a braincase of more than double capacity but a full set of eight eyes without a single blind spot. The only thing Fishbones didn't see was at the top of the hill, and that was quickly reached.

Life? Perhaps. Certainly not organic. Crouching into a tense defensive stance so low to the ground as to seem almost restful, the Sculptor observed as the thickset creatures grazed, though the grass was scant and reedy. Oh, no? They weren't picking at the grass at all, but scraping away layers of exposed, cinereous rock. That is, those that weren't looking back. They scrutinised Fishbones with simple eyes. Not so simple as to be bestial. No, there was some quality about the Sculptor that they were responding to... Consciously. Emotively.

The Sculptor's entire body began to shiver with excitement.

They are called Urtelem, whispered a voice.

Taking delicate steps, shedding caution with every spiraculous breath, Fishbones stepped close enough to lay a gentle claw on the forehead of a young, curious bundle of smiling stone. The girl-child had never seen anything so sinuously sturdy. The artist had never seen anything so keenly curious about his body without being sickened by it. Many hain-families had lately been emboldened, for their tools had improved a hundredfold, and weapons among them. The foolhardy and courageously violent were always put down with swift ease, but their pacified remains were gorgeous. There was hainshell on the clicking necklace. A pair of delicate pincers took hold of it and eased it around the tiny elemental. An experiment, a step in the dark, a bleb of paint on the wall simply to see what it looked like.

The sculptor stared with detail-feasting eyes and strained every fibre of its body to listen as the Urtelem took the elaborate necklace in hand and, finding that it made a sound, beat it with budding palms in order to amuse itself.

That night, the First Sculptor slept little, for new names and projects filled its mind and made it restless for creation, and when it finally nestled between the solemn shapes of the Stone Men its dreams soared high into Mirage, where it worked with clay hands to fill an easel with glittering minerals and stood over the whole world in readiness to produce a masterpiece. It rippled wordless, melodic thoughts over the surface of the Gap, gushing out its fervor to work with this new material it had found. The All-Beauty caught its tune in hers and relayed it out across the world, where, in many places and many bodies, the young Sculptors pricked their ears and joined her.

Together the transcendent artists of Galbar formed a choir that night, and the name of their hymn was Potential.



Jvan hummed along with her children, a mutual lullaby, comforting and hopeful for the progress of a new day. The Mason's offspring were an admirable work. Modest, quite, and yet not without the expressive flush of core emotional traits. And practical. An ornate tool, though I suppose he intended them to be rugged.

There was no doubt that Teknall had constructed the Urtelem to be entrusted with a crucial duty on Galbar. As the planet grew brighter, the danger of slipping from complex contrast into a serious clash escalated, and the continuation of divine craft became a more delicate affair. White giants, ashlings, ants, and now even the hain had become uncompromising elements that required buffering tones if they were to be integrated into the overall composite of life.

Indeed, the world had become quite harsh to its minorities, as many heterogenous populations do. The Sculptors danced and twirled over the surface of the world in rising numbers- Total of eleventy-two adults, and six hundred, forty and nine adolescents. Even as their progeny began to disperse worldwide with the transcendence of the first fluid-borne Djinni into the fold, a localised but fleet-footed threat had crawled out of the Deepwood to join that posed by the Dawn-Ant.

Of the new demigod, the Wild Beau, Jvan knew little, save what she had seen through Navy's eye in the moment before that, too, had been split open and its contents splattered over the savannah. Another puzzle... One that I'd enjoy unravelling if he wasn't such a risk. A spiel over the ugliness of the fiberling, and then a flaunty, saucy danse macabre. Well, I can't deny that he's a cute boy, but... That was far too little information to act upon, or on which to neglect action. Power unchained could not be ignored. Who had created this magnificent, violent specimen? The Madgod? The Soul-Weaver? Perhaps even, in imitation of his own vanity, the Lord of Change? It was impossible to tell. He is like... A perfect opposite to Vulamera. Outstandingly beautiful in form, wise enough to understand and display it... And yet while the expressionless Vulamera has a wondrous eye for design, the Beau only destroys.

Jvan wondered what the Shadow of Revelation had been up to after the incident with Perfectus. Probably nothing important.

In any case, she had a rather different guest to attend to.

The Glass Diva made an interesting figure, standing in the shadow of the god's gargantuan, cavern-riddled body. Fungal jungle accompanied by a myriad of other branching plants and animals had long since overgrown her as kelp and coral dressed her submerged half, but the carmine light of divinity was still clearly visible, and as Notte's eyes looked into the vast glow, Jvan looked right back. Meimu is cute, and dresses opulently; but this niece of mine turns heads by accentuating her own body. Clever contrast, Ilunabar!

She listened to Notte's request with the respect and keen interest of a curious, not entirely innocuous aunt. When the map was offered, an elongated, sleek silver fiberling emerged from the shining red depths to collect it, sinuous and elegant, like horsehair. Jvan was far from finished with that race, and the habitat she had become hosted several experimental breeds. Words pulsed vividly from the body, but manifested in a rather quiet voice, for a God.

"The race of Man... What a piece of work. In form and moving, express and admirable. In action, how like an Avatar; in apprehension, how like a... In any case, this is an admirable piece of information, Notte, and I'm grateful! ...And quite curious. Who made these?" Musing aloud by the end of her sentence, Jvan was truthfully curious about the newcomers and their origins, but it was Notte herself who interested her far more. Navy had never again had the chance to converse with Meimu. Here, then, was the Engineer's first opportunity to find out how exactly the Muse stitched together her agents... It would be far from boring. Ilunabar did not simply create servile minds, Jvan guessed. She was the type to write characters.

For now, there was a wish to be granted, and it was the kind of gift the All-Beauty was pleased to give. "Simple threads? Notte, friend, I am a creator-deity, a living laboratory. The finest materials are always harvested from flesh... You ask for a crop, but I will give you a Garden!"

The black, sandy stone of the peninsula thrummed intimately beneath the Avatar's feet as physics thinned and the gently pulsating Other rose up like a tide. A spider's web of cracks radiated from her position, falling into the perfect circular and semi-circular interconnected runes that Ilunabar favoured. A small, lonely white bud emerged before the guest, imitating the very roses from which Meimu had risen. There was a moment's pause. The bud bloomed, and the ground bloomed with it.

The bulb exploded into a flurry of soft, skeletal white lace strands plaited into a spiralling floret, so light that it flew upwards into the air, followed by a million others. High spires and curled horns of trees and not-trees corkscrewed from the earth, their bark softly splitting into folds and fibers, their flowers dripping with rich dye. Mycelia carpeted the once salt-barren surface with pastel blues, yellows and pinks that spiralled as the fungi competed for space. From above drifted five-winged bird-like invertebrates with no name, displaying to one another with translucent tail feathers like flowing waves of silk suspended in water. Iridescent velvet-worms rippled up and down through the grove on legs that shifted hue as they moved, and sloughed their skins to leave gleaming, elastic residue. Fluffy spinster-spiders danced between the trees, leaving webs that caught whatever light fell on them and glowed with it. Hundreds of tiny fiberlings flitted around, mostly in uncoloured silver and white. A thousand forms of life sprung into the world around Notte, each offering a unique thread into an overgrown laboratory that produced simply by existing.

"I hope these will comfort and excite you, Notte. If not, well, I am always creating more, and my body has many doors. Just take heed of this- This fabric is adaptable and can hold many shapes and dyes, but though I like to make all of my art malleable, this garden doesn't yet have a strongly divine touch. The fashion and colour I leave to you and your mother. Pass on my regards."

Jvan's tone changed, and the carmine light seemed to creep towards Notte in a pale fog, shivering with each word. "And now, dear niece, it's my turn to be curious, not about what you can do for me, but about who you are." The left side of the Avatar's manifested body dwindled and faded out of view, exposing the lines of a skeleton, heart and lungs, revealing her for what Jvan knew she was: A half. From somewhere distant, the mirror-split half of Notte dispersed similarly, and flowed back together here to complete the body and bring her fully into the presence of the God. "Dividing the body is a simple trick, and as the Engineer of Flesh, I approve of it. Make one out of many. What interests me, Notte, is what it says about you."

Was it possible for a disembodied voice borne on a glow to smile? Jvan made it seem easy.

"You have duties here on your mother's business, which I appreciate. But you have other errands you consider just as important, for yourself. Ulterior motives. Independence. Tell me, Notte, what projects are you tinkering with? What lusts do you hide and what wrath do you nurse? Who exactly did you steal these humans from?

"I like this world we've made, girl. It's full of intrigue."



The Shattered Plains was not a friendly environment, and Violet did not like its neighbours.

Vestec's essence reigned strong, and the ashen bodies of the Imbalancers took on an unprecedented level of dominance here. It was disgusting, and Violet had always wanted to leave, despite what the eye within it commanded. The place was so perverse that there was more chaotic imbalance than there was ordinary succession of life, and the purple fiberling found itself in a situation that worked strange things on its psyche: So endless was the work that had to be done to try and cleanse even a small corner of this place from destruction that Violet had become a thing that broke other things with an entirely unique level of abandon. As centuries wound down, the act left it with a bitter heart, and the fiberling had almost forgotten how to play.

Somewhere in the distance, the Unholy Presence had showed up again, as it sometimes did, and Violet ignored it aggressively. Violet continued to ignore it as a second divinity joined it and disappeared. By the time its eye finally compelled the resisting entity to investigate, there were at least three forms of godly presence in the broken plain and other sources of energy besides, churning reality around themselves so harshly that the sky turned black and roared at a reddened earth.

So much distaste for the smell of deity had crept into Violet that it almost preferred the mind-numbing hunt for ashlings to the absurd changes to the environment, to whatever arbitrary task its creator had in store now. Perhaps its anger jinxed it, because the optic fiberling didn't even come close.

The storm howled, and a spear of refined lightning rained to earth with a hundred others. The primordial energy struck neither Violet nor anywhere within a hundred metres of it, but the flash of plasma upon impact was still close enough to overwhelm its intangible body and blind its Other-borne sense of sight, and the stone of Galbar exploded like water, flinging the crippled organism away. Still more destruction came, before even a millisecond had passed, for drawn by its mindless task to smite and break a supreme spirit, the dissipating bolt lanced out white filaments of energy in all directions. One of them managed to home into the only Jvanic Eye within the region.

Having barely even begun on its trajectory, Violet was impaled on a string of divine willpower that pierced both eye and ovary and blasted its body apart on the wind. By an inevitable fluke, the All-Beauty was forever barred from knowing what truly took place on the Day of Empire.

Some mass remained. Blind, excommunicated, and confused, one bitter clump of fibrous mass remained to tie Violet's true body to Galbar. It collapsed somewhere in the desert and curled into a languid bundle, unfeeling, listening to the quaking earth as the gods shouted while rudiments of vision began to return.

Shattered and yet born anew, it was Violet that bore witness to the birth of the Sovereign Emperor. Not an Envoy of the All-Beauty nor a Jvanic Eye, not a mute and simple Fiberling, but Violet, bearer of a memory that, deep inside, would one day be fanned into a flame.

A free individual.



The village was silent. Stillness of night, gentle sunshine of day... Heartworm found it a thoroughly relaxing atmosphere to work in. The only stir in the air other than the occasional autumn breeze was the breath of twenty-six hain, dipping in and out of dreams in their sedated, collective doze. Some might consider me merciful. The Horrorsome Engineer had not even injured a single one.

They hung like ripe fruit clustered limply upon a vine, like a row of corpses strung from the same gallows. The villagers' feet dangled over the ground, and the top of each hain's cranial exoskeleton had been tidily opened up to admit fusion with the large, fluid-filled tumour. They all shared the medium with the worm that swam through it like a parasite in a sagging gut. Heartworm perused their semiconscious brains from above, linking them together and splitting them apart, adding permanent infrastructure with each pass. It was restful stuff, compared to the other project that fluttered in a separate womb, and still it was full of promise.

The other project. A rather more ambitious undertaking. So much time did Heartworm find itself devoting to the far larger of the two vesicles that, as the final stages of preparation took place, the bed of fitfully dreaming hain became a leiure activity in comparison.

There were tens of thousands of finished copies of them by the time the Holiest Mangle was ready to unveil the two-part masterwork, and each one had been painstakingly fertilised in advance. Nurtured by the vast womb, they already carried the eggs of the next generation. Their population would explode high into the millions within decades of release. Much like the insects I took them from.

Indeed, the glamorous samples from which the project took its roots had been easy to find. Most of them were already present in the Heartworm's expansive mobile library of genetic data and desiccated organic remains. They didn't take up much space, and could be stacked together like a deck of cards. Wings. Wings, yes, of moths and imagines, of dragon-darters and mantids, beetles, locusts, and fruit flies. Wings of odd things on distant migrations from the Deepwood, and things odder still designed by the Stitcher itself in adoration of the Rottenbone's progeny.

For this archetype, Heartworm had selected a name: Faery.

Each one was built out of wings, usually at least six, ranging into thirty or more. Some radiated helically from their origin and others were arranged with bilateral symmetry. They came in many morphs and colours, each growing only the wings of its own breed, the patterns mixing upon hybridisation. At their heart lay a faintly fluorescent core, a fragile, intricate knot of tiny muscles and organs transplanted from samples gathered in the Other, from which flowed the preternatural blood that inflated their veins. And from this core hung a single compass blade edged with the faintest trace of obsidian ichor.

Each blade of the Needle Fae was about half again the length of the individual's longest wing. It was flexible but superbly strong, and metallic in nature, like a rapier. It was the implement of life and death. The sheen of fluid midnight ink that coated it stained as deeply as guilt itself. It was the seed of Fae reproduction, and with it the strong and beautiful mated among themselves. The weak and drab would not be treated with such privilege. For them, the sword of a superior Needle Fae would herald only swift butchery.

The inspiration for this species that would war against itself eternally, Heartworm would admit, had come from the Alluring One, he who sliced beauty out of anything less exciting than himself. Our Lord Mutilation, however, is not just an artist but an engineer, as its divine sire always styled herself, and the population dynamics of the Needle Fae were not nearly so arbitrary as the dance of the Wild Beau. I am not a destructive god. I do this to protect my world.

Needle Fae eat light, heat, and electricity. What matter they need to grow is siphoned from air, puddled from mud, or sucked from the Gap. They are omnisynthetic, and they have almost no flesh on which predators may sustain themselves. Without the harshest possible degree of self-annihilation or disease symbiosis, just a few millenia would see the Needle Fae grow exponentially, until the whole of Galbar's atmosphere disappeared under a metres-thick layer of faery. That would be... Entertaining, but unacceptable in the highest degree. So the Needle Fae would consume themselves eternally, like the Ourobouros of myth, but they would do so at breakneck speed until equilibrium was established.

Only one, single force could override the nature of the Faery Duellists, and cause them to safely swarm: The voice of a Sculptor.

Yes. This work is good.

And at last it was complete.

Depositing first the thick, sealed vesicle of the Needle Fae, Heartworm then split and ejected the final product it had wrought from the Hain. They were fused by the skull, all of them, to a central, bloated bladder of billowing, gaseous energy, and as the afterbirth flowed away they began to wake up, too tired to comprehend, too weak to scream. Their retinas failed to focus from lack of use, and their flopped limbs remain numb. They won't have a chance to wake up, thought Heartworm, without any emotional attachment to the issue.

The Emancipator left both of its works and floated on. As it disappeared into the sunset, the churning Other-breath within the bladder reached critical mass, ignited in a carmine blaze of light, and exploded.



For a hundred miles around the place where a Hain village had suddenly become a crater bay on the south of the Shimmering Sea did the shock-sound of that eruption carry, bearing on its winds the first Faery generation and scattering it into the jetstream and over the whole face of the planet.

The Needle Fae were not the only thing that visceral blast spread. From the neural matter of the hain who had been sacrificed for the task had grown viral spores, protected by and freed from an immensely durable biochemical capsule as they were blown into the atmosphere. These spores were not self-perpetuating, and they did not need to be. Where other such viroid entities only injected genetic material to reproduce, Heartworm's artwork instead delivered a payload of rapidly-integrated, innocuously functional genetic machinery into the hain. These genes were dominant and versatile, and just a few generations would see them implanted deeply into the species.

Do they fear the Other? Thus had Heartworm mused. Very well, but let them know it first.

Each and every hain carrying these genes would feel a pull, in their heart, to brave what made them shudder. To take to themselves that which they knew would inflict pain, and emerge wiser. Many would regret what they did. Some would never do it at all. A few would rejoice in it and repeat the trial on every moult. Most would accept their conflicting natural instincts as they accepted the other realities of life- Through the trial of adolescence.

As the alleles rushed into the nostrils of almost every hain in the southern hemisphere and many more besides, a new and unifying tradition grew within them. Upon coming of age, a hain will take up the ink-slicked blade of a Faery, for such creatures are not sparse, and easily slain. The young hain will take this needle upon itself, and, guided by instinct, etch into its body the sharp, flowing motifs of a Forest Beyond, a Sea Beneath the Sea, a Starless Heaven, an Other- A Cancer That Breathes.

The designs are frightening and undignified, but they remain for twenty moons, until the hainshell of childhood is finally sloughed and the individual emerges as an honoured adult. The detestation of Jvanic material does not truly fade. It never will. But for a brief moment of life, almost every hain will know that they are stronger than this fear, that they have accepted and overcome it once and they will overcome it again.

The mature members of this race now canoed through the inlets of the Fractal Sea with the ambition and confidence with which they pioneered all other rivers and oceans. They understood their phobia for what it was, and no longer attached superstition to the subject of their revulsion. No longer would their distaste fill them with so much ire that they would throw themselves against a Sculptor knowing it would kill them. Fiberlings were now barred from enjoying the keenest aspect of their presence that instilled shock and shivers in the hain, but would be hunted on even ground. Needle Fae would not be cursed as apparitions, but harvested eagerly, their blades used for more conventionally beautiful tattoos and a veritable myriad of other functions besides, for the material was much more valuable in practice than the ease of killing a faery implied.

Heartworm had not cursed the Hain. It had blessed them.

Some might consider me merciful.



The Valley of Peace, some people might say, had done Amber a world of good. Weirder people might call its effects stifling.

Elsewhere and some time ago, Scarlet had partaken in the truest of fiberling games- The taunting and spooking of sentients. The red fiberling and its friends had nipped at the heels of the hain tribe gleefully, taking a child here and an adult there, breaking such little things as it could afford without culling the population or impeding the growth of its society. Balance in all things. More recently, Cyan had ceased to do something rather different and strange, repelling its siblings and playing with a not-so-different tribe with distinctly uncharacteristic placidity and empathy. From the natural path of Scarlet to the odd extreme of its bluer kin, Amber had found an odd midpoint in temperament.

Colourful mists and pastel trees filled the pale orange creature's senses, and they gave it a kind of languid calm. It still compressed itself and pounced, as was its nature. Perversion had entered its hunts, however, to the point where it carelessly defied the nature of a free predator and no longer ended a chase with death. Amber rather played extended and frightening games of tag. When it jumped and chased a furred animal, it ran it down in the old way, as a leopard does, and when its otherworldly engine of energy surpassed the finite stamina of the animal, it grabbed them- Then tugged out a chunk of hair, and simply left.

The conclusion of events had an element of surreality. The 'prey' stood up frightened and exhausted but very much alive, having received nothing but an adrenaline rush and a rough bald patch. Amber kept its sizeable Other-brain at least passably active in this way without delving into the natural course of action for a fiberling its size. Even when storm or landslide wrought imbalance that could only be righted by culling a competitor to allow another species to recover, Amber simply suffocated what the numbers had marked.

Changes all that were not, within the Vale of the Mother, so strange. But the peach-coloured entity would not spend much longer in this pacifying luxury. Its Eye called it elsewhere, and it followed.

Not without some feelings of muffled regret. Odd things had been emerging from the mountains, lately. Lively, pretty things! They were the biggest species Amber had ever seen airborne, far larger than the occasional raven or pair of tender birbs. Two arms, two legs, white wings... And crowned on the face by the most delicious-looking filaments Amber had ever seen. Its hunger instinct had started to dull with years spent in this place, however, and while Navy in its magnificent arrogance- May its lack of a soul rest in peace- Would have climbed mountains for the sake of pouncing the first flying humanoid it saw, Amber simply marked them as worth waiting on an opportunity for. Now that the call had come to depart, some other, smaller fiberling would have the privilege of being the first to steal a tuft of angelic hair.

Clearly, the price of peace was procrastination.

The dance of the gods was getting faster exponentially, the blocks of time between each of her siblings action was getting smaller in a manner similar to one of Jvan's fractals. She too felt it across her being, a while ago it took her epochs to recover from a headache or to finish the design of the Arpeggio, yet her latest projects' extent was a mere fraction of those. She could not attribute said change to the Divas, it was something within herself, what exactly she had yet to understand, it was far easier to feel than to understand.

"And that is why I'm finishing this," she said as the last lines of ink crossed the scroll.

Demigods were a good opportunity for new and interesting stories to be born. Allure alone added a much-needed spice to the pastel plains of Galbar, he managing to show a side of Notte's character that Ilunabar didn't know was merely the cherry on the cake. His methods were odd, but that was expected of something like him, a brew born from the deposited energy of many gods. The mix of Jvan and her own style was particularly amusing, and as always, fueled new ideas.

Lifprasil, this one was more problematic, he was a gargantuan mountain of potential, yet, his path had been set to a very unsightly route. For reasons she did not particularly understand, the gods decided to shower the young deity with gifts, shortcuts, while that could be interesting to kickstart Lifprasil's journey the final result was underwhelming. There was something that her siblings, in their excitement over the novelty of a demigod, did not realize, they were giving lif a shortcut, yet the only thing they were cutting was the early chapters of his journey.

She couldn't blame them, but where they acted like an excited child who just won her first crayon, Ilunabar would have the collected stance and properly set up Lifprasil's story to something other than an early crash. A struggle to counter the many shortcuts, this was what the scroll she had written was. The Codex was like a motherly breast, this work was going to be the first crash while learning to walk, learning how things were formed was good, but the world wasn't formed of its base materials, the clay had long been crafted into vases and ovens and knowing the element Fe would not protect one from the iron blade.

The child had been living in the palace so delivering the scroll was really easy, she simply left it in the room where Lif slept and expected him to find it one day or another. The content of the scroll was a collection of the history of Galbar and the cosmos, a catalogue of the fauna and flora and a guide to many of the things that were formed after the Codex was written. It was not a magical text, it was a simple and down to the ground encyclopedia of knowledge Lif need to learn.



On the last pages, however, Ilunabar had set up a little "trick" that was a reminder to Lifprasil that even she had limitations. On one page it was written, "As the last chore, read the message on the last page and write it down on this one."
This was an obvious easy task, but the nature of the ink which Ilunabar used was the catch. She had worked with the beyond-colors for a while, and meanwhile, they lacked a formal organization, a couple of those were already in use. The one used here, in particular, was called Vowzest, the color of the Present, and indeed, the color just existed on the Present, once a person stopped looking at it the color would be gone from their mind until they looked at it again. Gods could see beyond the color, but with Lifprasil it would still work, so no matter how many times she looked at the last page and read " " he would never remember the word by the time he was back to the question page.

---

Notte was overjoyed that at least one of her two missions had not ended in disaster. Jvan's garden was truly something beyond, the exotic materials would surely appease her lady master, the fact she managed to get so many could even outshine the little accident involving Allure and the portrait.

Her mouth started to form a word but was suddenly stopped when half of her body disappeared. With a full look at Notte's internal secrets, Jvan would surely notice a few oddities, the bones were dark as if they had been charred and the blood reflected its surroundings like a molten mirror, finally, the heart was formed by a core of molten quartz and ash being pumped by disks of iron (Reference). The second half of the Glass Diva arrived soon enough and her body started to take its shape again, making loud glass-breaking-like noises in the process, the division between the two was sealed by quicksilver, which dripped across the Diva's body until it was one again.

The process wasn't more painful than what Notte could take, still, it was somewhat uncomfortable to have your insides exposed and your form meddled with like that. Complaining while she was in the wrong was unthinkable so she just let out a loud "Seeesh" while she rubbed her midsection to see if everything was in its correct place. Once she was calm enough to talk again she started.

"Logos, we smuggled it from him, I created the portal trough a mirror and Meimu used a sedative. To be sincere, this was supposed to be secret information so do not tell the Lady Master I told you, okeh?" she winked at the gigantic, coral and algae covered, Deity.

Jvan's questions about her are what truly surprised her, however, she did not feel like holding it back either, she wanted to talk, with anyone, anything, as long as it did not annoy her like Meimu and Allure "My concept of Beauty is not showing up a lot on Galbar. Meimu is fine with her flowers and master Iluny works as if she was in the future. Me? Well, I kinda stay on the vacuum for now, landscape and animals are cute diversions, but I wish for more, I want to talk with peers by the campfire, I want to hear the tales of the elders, I want to drink good wine, I want to get to know rumours, I want to hug someone, tell them I will always be with then, and then leave by the time the sun rises." she sighed

"And sorry for dividing myself, I just saw this odd man jumping across the sky. I was supposed to make him fall in love with Logos's daughter, instead, he was interested in me. At first, it was fun, but he quickly showed his annoying side, saying he was equal to me, that he was the best shard of Ilunabar and even you!" She huffed and shook her head. She was always conscious of the fact that meanwhile Meimu had a clear objective and mission she was more of a wild card, deep down she feared that all of her use was to bring humans into Galbar, and from now on her life would have no guiding light. To add one more "contender" for Ilunabar's power just made her anger bloom.

For how long they did not know – how can the unknowing know of time? Through half-misted minds and base instincts they waited in the blackness, stirred by Her hand, blending, changing, from man to beast, then back to man again. Never thinking of the future, nor of a past that never was, but, waiting.

Then as humankind became aware, was She born. Born of their need for food, for wanting, no, needing someone to help them find their purpose. And in that cave, lit only by one flame, plants became colour, and colour became a vision, and that vision became a Goddess – and She became that Goddess. The Rotten Deer, the Mother of Life, the Many Faced Seven in One.

So, it was in the beginning that She ruled as the stag and the doe and the babe and the corpse and Goddess of the Hunt. Invoked with blood and sweat and the chase. She led the hunt through the forest and it was She who bent the branches to scratch and tear and cut. For without effort, what is the point of Life? Without hunger, what would feed the spirit? Without need, all life would die. So, their sorcerer stood in bloodied skins, and raised his hands and called Her name. Then he fell to the ground and skin became fur, and feet became hooves. Blood gushed as Her antlers pushed through bone and sinew to arise with seven tines, one for each of the moving lights within the blackness above. Stood before them She held my head proud and tall – none met Her gaze, they just breathed the stench of death and the copper taint in the blood filled air. They breathed this and it filled them with the hunger, ready to face their own death in order to feed the tribe. Drums suddenly filled the silence, and the hunters danced Her dance, invoking a spirit into their bodies. Giving her more life, and more power. Until, proud in full erect manhood he screamed Her name again and again, and they span around the fire, their throats calling with the guttural call of the rutting stag, telling it’s spirit that the tribe must live! And it must die for the tribe! Then in an instant they were gone – as the drums suddenly stopped they disappeared into the forest without a sound.

There won't be a summary for this one! It's just a little tale, perhaps about Slough Week and all.
Oh yeah, the time reference of this is based on my geological era catalog.




(Based on this post)

The origins of this order can be traced to the second great irradiation of life that happened on the Late Rottenian, where the first fossil records of the Snowy Furl (Furlidae Boletus) and its close relative, the Deepwood Sloth (Megaurlpus Obscuro) can be found. While the Sloth had a very easy grounded life, being large enough to be untouched by the predators, the Furl had not only to struggle to find food but also to survive against the many threats that the primeval jungle offered.

This resulted in a very versatile species, with patagium that permitted it to fly across the dense jungle and an omnivore nature that contrasted the Deepwood Sloth's herbivore diet. As such, it was no surprise that when the Glith Savannah started to form, the Furls were one of the first species to take over the many new niches and opportunities. This generated a great boom in the numbers of the order, dwarfing the numbers of Deepwood Furls, their size also started to increase, in some cases dramatically, and with enough time, many new families started to form, two who became particularly successful were the Beaked Furls and the Flea Furl.

Beaked Furls had a quick spread because of their specialization, long beaks that could reach the burrowing species that the Fleet-Footed Mangler was unable to hunt. The deeper it could bite, the more food it had, due to that natural selection acted quickly in making some of these creatures enormous, the Towering Terror (Furostro Gigacollum) is to this day the largest that a Furl would ever get.

The Zephyronian extinction swooped out the smaller carnivore Beaked Furls, the Herbivores found themselves quickly displaced by the dynamic Birbs. The megafauna like the Towering Terror became less common but survived that extinction, however, when the Ashlings the creature's slow movements made it an easy prey, that was the last nail in the order's coffin.

The other "winner" of the era, the Flea Furl (Furlidae Exhibuit), kept itself true to what made the Furls survive so far, dynamicity and climbing. Brush Beasts, with their large and wonky body and many unreachable spots on their skin, was the perfect breeding ground for many insects and vermins. The flying Furls from the Deepwoods were the first to take advantage of abundant food "growing" on the gargantuan creature's skin, but they were quickly displaced by birds and other larger species. The proto-Flea Furls were a quadruped, ground-bound, species, but the sights of large and succulent maggots growing on the legs of the beast inspired it to start to climb those legs. Natural selection took its course and the more agile species got the most food, and by the time the first Furls had climbed all the way up to the beast's back they had become quick enough to fight against the many flying terrors that also lived up there.

In the backs of the absurd beasts the Flea Furl had an easy life, insects, larvae and birds with their eggs were all part of their diet. Due to the nurturing habits of the Brush Beast, it was also quite easy to jump from one beast to another when one was far too old. The Zephyronian and Flamourian events did not affect them in any way, but those peaceful times would end soon.

In the early times of the Kaliosian the Heraktati arrived, not even the Brush Beast could resist the beast. The Furls saw their homes that were supposed to live up to a century dying out in their thirties, the ones who decided to fight against the ferocious beast would be the ones to survive these troubled times. The Flea Furls had already the seed of sociability from their habits over the last epochs, this new challenge helped to select the most organized groups that could successfully gang up on the "invader".

Of course, Reathos' pets were a formidable beast, and the gangs often lost half of their members in the defense of their home-beast. With the time that favored the clever and strong, who with time became their own species, the Soldier Furl (Furlidae Pugnatore). While the adaptability of this species was originally a way to preserve their home, it also showed the way out. Sometimes, the gang of Furls would simply not see the need to leave the carcass of a recently deceased Brush Beast. Why bother with climbing up those things when you can peacefully live among the bones of the giant?

When the Formican Expulsion and the climate changes of the Firewind Desert happened the few Soldier Furls who lived at the border of the savannah decided to go west, into the jungles, valleys, and mesas, instead of returning to the back of Brush Beasts. Those would be the only family of Savannah Furls to survive, as the new boom of flying beasts from this epoch took a hard toll on the already dwindling Flea Furls.

On this new habitat, the bipedal species ended up having the advantage, all of the radiation of the era had the species taking advantage of being able to stand up and look around. The Saber-Tooth Brute (Furlid Brutus) was one of the first species to stand out, expanding on the strength of its antecessors this gorilla-like creature managed to become an untouched herbivore-insectivore like the distant, yet similar, Deepwood Sloth. With habile hands and sharp claws, this creature specialized on cutting thin trees down to eat their fruits, leaves, sap, and insects. Despite all this deftness, the slowly breeding creature saw its numbers decreasing dramatically with the rise of Hain and Human hunters, now only living in distant and unknown areas.

Other species which managed to strive well was the Kompsoid (Furlid Elegans) who with its thin frame and delicate hands managed to strive well in the caves near the valleys and plateaus. The tail and patagium give the creature a good sense of balance and mobility. Recent changes did not make its life worse, on the contrary, the presence of luminescent flowers and fungus in the region just made its numbers rise, as this creature could camouflage itself among the faint lights quite well.

END (For now!)

Oh by the way, towering terrors, they were actually a thing, freaking pterosaurs no less

Across the Gilt Savannah, over the plains, skirting the Deepwood forests, around the coast of the Fractal Sea, Teknall and Gerrik journeyed far and wide, visiting many of the Hain villages in that hemisphere of Galbar over the course of many years. Their journeys, teachings, discussions and discoveries could fill whole volumes of books, and in future they might. Below are but some of the highlights of that period.



Thud...

Thud...

Thud...

The footfalls of the Brush Beasts echoed through the earth and across the savannah, the tremors reaching well past the horizon. While it may be unsettling at first for creatures unaccustomed to it, the tremors soon felt commonplace and were readily ignored.

Taking respite from the hot sun, Teknall and his apprentice Gerrik followed in the beast's great shadow. A herd of Pearskin Cattle did the same, taking advantage of the shade, rare in such a flat place as this, to keep cool. Hiding in the darkness and behind some long grass lurked a Mangler, who bolted out at a calf who wandered too close, momentarily spooking the herd into fleeing. But as the Mangler dragged off its kill, the Cattle calmed down and continued their leisurely pace. As they walked, the Brush Beast bent down its head to close its jaws around a grand juniper tree- one of Teknall's own inventions- and uprooted it in a single bite. From the leaves fled several pairs of Tender Birbs, the couples making a panicked retreat as their once-safe homes were destroyed in an instant.

"Marvellous, isn't it?" Teknall commented, sweeping his hand across the life-filled savannah.

Gerrik looked to his master, then to the multitude of plants and animals. "Yeah," he replied, although somewhat indifferently.

To this Teknall made the Hain equivalent of a frown. "You clearly don't think so. Yet they are truly something to behold. The spawn of the Life-Deer display such elegance in design, and complexity within complexity to such an extent that we could probably study them forever and they would still hide many secrets." He looked out to the thriving ecosystem before him, and said, "Tell me your observations, Gerrik."

Gerrik stopped walking and observed. This was an oft-repeated ritual, where Stone Chipper would ask him to observe something, taking in every detail, and then he would be expected to present deductions about how that thing worked, how it interacted with its surroundings, how it was made, and any other insight which could be garnered.

Gerrik looked and thought deeply, considering both what he saw before him and his past experience, for about twenty minutes before making a response. "The Brush Beasts are colossal, and along with that comes a colossal appetite. They can eat whole trees, thinning forests. This can help keep the forests from being overgrown, allowing other plants a chance to grow, while also reducing the severity of fires. From their dung also grows other plants. It seems to feed plants and make the soil richer. It looks a lot like soil after a few days, after all.

"These Brush Beasts, with their incredible size, relatively slow pace, and indifference to life around them, also make up a dynamic part of the terrain. Like mountains, yet walking and eating. Creatures like the Pearskin Cattle and ourselves can take advantage of this shade, although smaller, more mobile creatures, such as the birbs, could easily make their home on the backs of these creatures.

"Here I see the herd of Pearskin Cattle. Like the Brush Beasts, they also seem to thin out the grasses they graze on, and feed the soil with their dung, although to a much less extreme degree. Their low intelligence makes for easy prey too, so their flesh tends to feed the Manglers and us Hain quite often.

"Manglers seem to continue this pattern, except instead of plants they eat animals, controlling their populations. Their speed is astounding. It is probably brought about by special, powerful muscles in their legs, although their weakness seems to be that they can only keep it up for very short bursts. It must be extremely tiring. It probably burns like when we sprint, but maybe even more so.

"Tender Birbs are interesting. They are small. They probably also contribute to this... feeding interaction, although from their size they don't seem to be able to have a major impact. However, they are quite curious in their interactions with others of their kind. They only ever seem to take one wife, yet this bond they have is very strong. I've never seen an unhealthy partnered Tender Birb, and I've never seen a healthy un-partnered Birb. It's quite touching, really."

Gerrik finished, and seeing that he had no more to same Teknall said, "Very good, Gerrik. You have learned well. Logic and observation is a powerful tool, greater than any axe or chisel or hammer. If you nurture these skills, all else will follow."

And so the pair continued their walk across the Savannah, trailing behind the Cattle herd and under the shadow of the Brush Beast.

Was there nothing of which a beautiful power was not capable? The same finger that had traced, with masterful precision, the peak off a mountain, the crown off a tree, huge letters into stone, and cracks into the earth, moved with painstaking slowness and deliberation to nick from its stem a juicy pear. Obediently the fruit fell from the great height, and with a clap it landed in Allure's outstretched hand. Taking it in both hands, as a sculptor might his clay, he tweaked the stem off before lifting the fruit to his lips. Rather than eating, however, he took a moment to savor the subtle but exquisite smell. Never would the gods, in all their holiness and greatness, be able to savor the simple pleasure of food. To be certain, one might put up a show of tasting some morsel or another, but as with so much, such an act was merely a facade. The true sensation of satisfaction would elude them, for they thought it lay in power, or order, or chaos, or change, or music, or magic, or death alone. One could not live unless one could die.

Only after Allure ruminated upon these ideas, perhaps lulled into trance by the sweet aroma of the pear, did he ruminate on it more literally. He did not waste a single drop of juice, just as he would not waste a single day of his life. After finishing his meal, Allure rose to his feet and began on his way. For some time now he, in parallel to a certain four-legged atrocity, had been skirting the edge of the Fractal Sea. Now, the bleak sands of the Firewind Desert could clearly be seen. The thought of bringing justice and redemption to the cause of so much misery and horror in the world excited him. Would the Rottenbone prove to be a formidable foe? Would she cower behind the lion of whom the hain whispered fearfully? No matter. Allure stalked along the shore at a steady pace, smiling wildly all the while, and resolved to spill every ounce of Slough's blood, be it red or black.

Yet he could not stomach any more walking. It bored him completely. Perhaps the trip would have been redeemable if the gods had seen fit to put a single thing of interest between the Gilt Savannah and the desert, but aside from the thin greenbelt near the water's edge, the land seemed empty. Funnily enough, it didn't even appear to be desert--just devoid of attention. Allure decided to put his abilities to good use. He took a series of deep breaths, then sprang. Bulletlike he sped through the air, floating high above the shoreline and its plants. Groups of walruses watched him soar overhead in utter befuddlement. Finally, he began to descend, and he stretched out his body like a plank with his arms held to the sides to catch as much air as he could. When he landed, he tucked himself into a roll, and to his satisfaction estimated that in a single bound he had traveled a mile. Eager but not so eager as to ignore his limits, he repeated his mantra of breaths before jumping again.

A half day of exhilerating jumps and refreshing rests later, a sudden wind stirred his luscious, honey-colored braid. It arrived just as the handsome man landed upon a sandy rise and beheld before him a diminutive delta where a river met the sea. Winded from his great journey, and curious about the unexpected zephyr that stirred his hair, Allure seated himself on the dune to watch. Before his eyes a storm approached from the north, but not a natural weather pattern as far as he could tell; this squall seemed both tiny and localized. "Hmm. How...unusual." The storm grew closer and closer, resolving into a vaguely humanoid shape that descended gradually to earth, much to Allure's interest. The hero of beauty sensed something of particular note wafting from that turbulent figure, and it made him want to retch just as much for its implications as its odor.

While the bloodied artist might not have felt it, the storm itself had stared back with its interest equally piqued. After ensuring a ginger landing for Maize, Esau, and Slough, the Vizier of the Winds moved to investigate. With uncanny ease for a being of the air, the elemental simply glided toward Allure and in the blink of an eye the gap between the two was closed. With curiosity the djinni drew even closer, for he had yet to encounter a being such as this one. Something about Allure gave off an especially perfidious aura and the windlord was sensitive to such things, yet he wondered if the being before was even intelligent.

Even as Ventus halted himself inches away from Allure's face, the man only smiled. He knew fear, but knew no reason to feel it when faced with this ephemeral construct. Rather than concerning himself with what the elemental might want, if indeed it held an intellect capable of wanting, he tried to envision how unnatural magical essence could be fashioned into a form that mocked life. In the end, he didn't truly care. The feeling of power emanating from Ventus paled in comparison to the reeking divinity that lay senseless only a few hundred feet behind him. Allure reached out with his arm experimentally to see if he could touch Ventus' face.

The djinni would feel entirely real to Allure's touch, though his form was simply smoke and mirrors. Air and magical smoke congealed together along with the energy of his Flicker, there would be an odd, almost dream-like sensation upon coming into contact with his form. Then again, that might have simply been the air around the Vizier humming with power. "Too close for comfort, I should think!" he now laughed aloud to himself, half expecting some sort of response from the creature before him. The djinni's entire form sublimated into a vapor before reforming a short distance away.

A unique and unprecedented tactile sensation did not at all assuage Allure's condescending disappointment. "Oh, it is sentient. I suppose that makes it a touch less hideous than the last miserable contortion of unnatural life I happened upon. Still, what a magnificent waste of potential. I'll have to redeem it after my task is complete," he thought aloud.

Making up his mind, he stood to his feet, and without any reason to give Ventus further attention, began walking at a brusque pace toward Slough. Wherever possible he traversed the dune by digging in his heels and sliding, and in only a few seconds the lightfooted looker stood near its bottom.

A waste of potential? Hideous? Vizier Ventus could not believe this one's words, and the indignity of it all! The air elemental rushed to intercept Allure. Standing right before the murderous one's advance, Ventus conjured a horizontal wind so powerful as to essentially be a wall. With that barrier in place, Ventus called out to Allure on the other side and confronted him, "Effendi, I like not this vile temperament; take back your words! I judge you unworthy of approaching the life-goddess."

The torrent of air caused the sash and fauld of Allure to whip around, and he nearly lost his footing on the loose sand. Particles whipped up by the wall scoured the man's bare chest like sandpaper. Without experimentation he determined that he could not pass through physically, but fortunately his disdainful sneer penetrated the Vizier's barrier. "Ugly, overinflated windbag. I judge you unworthy of living, unnatural or not. Scatter." He threw his hand forward, fingers curled like talons, and raked it through the air. The semisolid airspace tore like tissue paper, but even then the miniature tempest managed to absorb much of the power of Allure's cuts. In fact, it protected Ventus so well the sensation of invisible razors slicing into his body registered a split second later, he did not instantly perish.

The djinni howled with pain. The physical damage to his illusory body that might have rended flesh did little harm, but the peculiar magic that this one wielded had a way of biting into his spirit itself. Even in his previous encounter with the ashlings, Ventus had never suffered true injury or the agony that was its companion, yet now he became acquainted with such things. Magic was the only thing that would kill or wound an elemental, and Allure's power had just succeeded in the latter.

Wordlessly, for once, the Vizier retaliated. He billowed backwards while that wall of wind began to rapidly bend. Perchance before Allure would even realize the danger, the barrier would have twisted around and then back upon itself to create an inescapable ring. The nascent tornado in an instant leapt to life, and if Allure had not escaped its clutch he would flind himself blinded and scraped by the sand sent whistling through the air. Flailing helplessly as the storm lifted him high into the air, he would be an easy target for Ventus to finish.

In the instant it took for Ventus to react to the pain, Allure registered with tangible surprise that he hadn't cut down the obstacle in one strike. For the first time, he considered his opponent a possible threat, and prepared himself to move. When the Vizier's attack came, the man immediately decided to evade rather than block the attack, and after steeling himself he shot straight upward. Only a split second later the whirlwind ring rushed in, its crushing force missing its target narrowly. High into the air Allure flew, pivoting around until he faced toward the earth. With narrowed eyes he held his arms out to the side, hands positioned like knifeblades.

A taunting voice cried out from below, "How long can you outrun the wind?" The tornado rapidly grew in size and voracity as Ventus fed it with more winds and used his magic to churn the vortex ever faster. All the while, the raged straight torward the Vizier's assailant as if it had a mind of its own.

The needling of Ventus did not necessitate a response. Only the weak needed to supplement their battles with quips and taunts. An incoming storm did not shake Allure's confidence in the least. In fact, he waited until the vortex was nearly upon him before he powerfully drew his arms across his chest, slicing out with both hands at once.

Beneath him, the Vizier's storm parted like butter to a knife. A cacophonous cracking noise signalled an enormous gash carved into the land itself, splitting a vast wound into the earth. Only the visual disturbance provided by Ventus' attack prior to its obliteration prevented the precision necessary to cut him in half as well. Sand flew into the air and the earth shuddered for hundreds of feet. Far, far above, Allure's sported a too-wide smile. It begged Ventus to consider whether or not he could possible come close to challenging this man when he came so incredibly close to annihilation.

The djinni's form evaporated back into a mist and his essence spread itself thin. If Allure was sensitive enough to magic to still feel the presence of his foe, he would find Ventus flitting back and forth in a sort of dance, ever cautious lest he find himself caught by a second magical strike. Two more storms were conjured in quick succession and they too flew toward Allure, but they lacked the raw power of the one that preceded them. The intent behind those two paltry disturbances was merely diversion.

Coming from above and behind Allure, Vizier Ventus moved to impale the wild attacker upon a spear of lightning. The strike would come the moment that Allure tried to handle the oncoming tornados. In the meantime, Ventus bided his time out of sight and constantly in motion.

In midair, Allure touched a finger to his chin, even as the torpedo gusts approached. "Odd for a sentient creature with a sense of self-work to try something again that just failed." He drew a casual, tentative line across the storms, destroying them both in one cut. Though expecting some ploy, he did not anticipate Ventus to have teleported behind him, and barely managed to turn around when the smell of ozone hit him before the thunderbolt followed. "Ahh!" he cried, twitching as he fell back to the earth. Long before he hit the sand, however, he recovered from the nasty shock and looked skyward with malice in his eyes. Nothing could be seen however, and in rage Allure screamed, "Eeeeeeeeeeyaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Only a bone-shattering impact with the ground ceased his harrowing cry.

A moment later, Allure stood up. His bones healed themselves quickly, but the pain remained. Quietly he wiped blood from his mouth on the back of his hand. "Agony is such sweet sorrow. I would have rather heard it from you." His eyes rested upon the figure of Slough, not far away. He grinned and held out a grasping hand, like a man seeking to crush a fruit between his fingers. "Heh! Perhaps the beast will be more obliging."

His quarry remained alive and well? The Vizier had given himself over to passion and allowed anger to consume himself, yet as the man's singed body had cascaded to the sands below it would have been a lie to say that Ventus had felt no pity. All such remorse was banished, however, when he felt Allure's attempt to lash out at Slough. A cloud black as soot appeared alone in the vast, empty sky, and from it rained down lightning like a volley of arrows. Ventus mercilessly directed each strike towards the miniscule figure below.

This time, Allure knew what was coming, and from where. He sighed and took off running, leaving the lightning to surge into the earth at his previous position. Ventus' anger failed to protect the goddess of life. Allure leaped upward as he zeroed in on Slough's position, shouting, "Disgusting fiend! Time to die!" His declaration trailed off into a wincing growl as a spike of blood shot out of his chest, though the roar of Esau drowned out the noise. Distracted by the pain, he could not change his course to avoid the Custodian pouncing to catch him in midair. Scything claws hurled him to earth, but this time Allure landed on his feet. While the bloody spike splattered against the sand, the man lashed out with his hand at the incoming creature, and Esau's mask split apart. Blood flew from the wound and the lion faltered midair to tumble, unconscious, into the sand. Only a moment remained before Slough would suffer a far more egregious fate.

Allure's swiftness was admirable in how he flitted so quick as to dodge lightning bolts as quick as Ventus could hurl them, but even dexterity had its limits. Ventus shot through the sky at unimaginable speed, abandoning his storm cloud and becoming a concussive blast of compressed air. Allure would hear nothing, for it came faster than sound. Without warning, the unstoppable gale barreled to cast him flying like a mere pebble upon the wind.

Forward came the rushing wind, indefatigable, unobservable, indomitable. It surpassed the realm of mortal comprehension, and left in its dust the authority of physics' laws. One could easily be forgiven for assuming that nothing could triumph over this wind of devastation. Certainly, Allure could not defeat it, nor even defend himself. Yet, if one were to stop time, they would have observed in the most infantesimal shard of a second that supersonic Ventus, approaching the hero from behind, had met the gaze of Allure as he looked, against all odds, over his shoulder at the coming storm.

Then came the deafening explosion of the sound barrier's destruction, and everything went black for Allure.

When he awoke, slowly and in great pain, the sky appeared to be on fire. Gingerly the man sat up, his hair completely undone and his sash and fauld nowhere to be seen. Craning his aching neck, Allure looked around. He appeared to be on a little island somewhere in the Fractal Sea, not much more than a sandbar with a rock and some traces of migratory Gilt Savannah grass, whose seeds had surely been carried by the wind. Wind... Minutes passed before his brain served him properly again. Putting a hand to his face, Allure discovered dried blood, but no scars, and his terrified heart could be at peace once more. With this serenity relieving him, he attempted to piece together what had happened. "I...was defeated?" His gaze fell on his hands, and he flexed his fingers experimentally. "No," he decided, clenching them into fists. His nails dug into his palms, but did not break the perfect skin. "Defeat is death and ugliness. Neither has been visited upon me. I have not been beaten, merely delayed. How bothersome."

He carefully picked himself up, and stretched his aching muscles as he stood on the soft sand. "My mistake," he mused aloud, "Was assuming that the others might not value this life-deer more than I. Surely, none of them think her any more than an accursed, repulsive thing, but for their own sakes they favor her creations. It should not be a surprise that she might have guardians." He set to the task of retying his hair with a scornful face. "Still, my own weakness enrages me. I am apalled that I could not overcome a simple elemental in one stroke, let alone a complete fight. I must...become more beautiful."

Minutes passed while he breathed, standing still. He could not deny that he felt fear doing this, but he knew no other way. With painstaking slowness, he raised the index finger of his left hand up and rested it, as one might with rice paper, against his forehead. Allure's heart beat, harder than ever before, and it wasn't the cool ocean wind that made him tremble. He grit his teeth, squeezed closed his eyes, and drew the line.

A scream echoed across the sea. The screamer screamed and screamed until his lungs were empty and his throat sore, and then he drew another line to the left. No more visceral pain, perhaps, existed on Galbar; it was a descent to the deepest pit of hell and a trek across the most titanic of mountains. After that, he shrieked until his consciousness faded from the world.



Allure gasped as he woke up from the nightmare. The gorgeous sunset had turned to night while he dreamed, but all the same he could see and smell the fluids that stained the sand. Furthermore, he could easily see the damage done to the island; it had been savaged by an invisible, gargantuan claw. He gasped again, and rested his head in his hands. Allure did not need a mirror to know that his wounds could no longer be seen, but he felt them. By Fate, he felt them. "I...beautiful...oh, it hurts."

The slave hain all skittered about their business through the centuries, oblivious to the statue of perfect gleaming white standing in the centre of their lodge. The stockpile was filled and reduced many times, to the point where Toun's suggestion to himself to take action seemed to be a forgotten myth. These hain had just too much Slough to be easily maintained.

All strangers who approached the lodge, whether they were hain or beast, were driven away. The slave hain were not individually intelligent, but they had a link between them via Toun that quickly helped them to coordinate against danger. Enemies were swarmed by them, not knowing the regular fear and weakness of hain as they were assailed with bone, tooth, and porcelain fist.

Local intelligent hain tribes quickly learned to avoid the area. It was dubbed cursed, full of hain that would not communicate or welcome you. Their numbers were greater than any single tribe could sustain on its own. Something was controlling them.

That controlling thing had been wallowing in his calculations for time uncounted. Most of Toun's thoughts were restricted to computing the best manner to bring forth his wishes. His haunting visions had apparently left him after such a great act of creation as the hain. This confirmed his suspicions that his essence had a flaw that would have to be treated rather than cured. He had no doubt as to its origin.

This thinking, of course, spawned renewed animosity against the infliction of his cursed visions. These feelings spread to include the denizens that sought to ruin his paradise in the first place. Those creatures with a divine essence that knew not what they did. He would have his revenge as he shaped the world to its true form. Not escaping would be those that sought to doubt Toun. Always questioning, always seeking to contradict. They simply did not understand. Their punishment would be exclusion from the paradise they sought to stifle. And lo, they will weep with their regret.

The boiling hate that simmered in Toun's still body was all he could to distract from his self-percieved failures. The clarity of his rage could channel energy into his grand plan, motivating him to look forward instead of backward. Behind him were memories that he was almost afraid of at this point. He was so naive back then.

Toun was not keeping track of how long it took. By the time he decided to enact the next stage of his plan, he had almost forgotten how to operate his body.

Toun's movements were jarring at first. He opened his eye to find that the lodge around him had changed. As per his will, the slave hain had kept the building tidy and orderly, but stains and dust across any and all exposed surfaces were left untended due to the lack of necessary tools. Toun took a step, his foot clinking against the once glossy floor below him. Another slowly followed. The third step was elongated enough to bring him all the way outside. The slave hain gave curious looks at the contorting statue but did not halt their duties. Their minds no longer held enough natural fascination to heed their ancient guardian actually moving.

The environment outside of the lodge had certainly changed since Toun last beheld it. Slough's life had spread across the entire planet, by the looks of things. With the other creatures that had sprung from her globules of life, Slough's predators had likely consumed all of the leftover hain by now, Toun had little doubt.

Regardless, Toun now had a new direction to take. He would not act here, not so close to her sister's precious valley. Toun turned south-east and began to walk. Or, at least, it was merely walking to him.

The slave hain around Toun started to cry out in alarm as they found their minds forcibly ordered to get into a line formation of rank and file. The influence spread to the rest, leaving behind food, eggs that had not yet hatched, their home, and falling into line behind their eternal perfect master. In the second that the slave hain were lined up, they found their sense of time and space becoming dilated. Toun remained constant before them, but the world flexed by as if they were looking through a glass sphere in all directions. They were travelling fast and far, with no effort from themselves.

The trees and green thinned into a more barren terrain as they reached their destination. There were tufts of grass and the occasional shrub in this desolate land, but little life to be seen, far as it was from regular rainfall and the seminal pits of Slough's influence.

Toun lifted his head as if surfacing and taking a breath from above a pool of long-held bitterness. He observed that they were on the equator, equidistant from the impact of Slough's arrival and the wake of Teknall's hammer. It was the perfect spot for what Toun had planned. Truly, no other place on any other planet could provide such ideal conditions.

This will have to do, Toun conceded to himself, cynically.

Not forgetting a single detail, Toun stepped around to his slave hain and gave a thought as a command. As one, every single slave hain squat down and wrapped their hands around their knees. Their heads were held forward onto their legs such that they assumed a foetal position. A short rumbling sounded before Toun flicked up an arm and caused a great, overwhelming snapping to sound. Faster than a blink, every single slave hain were each encased in porcelain eggs. Toun extended his hand and lifted his fingers gently, and as he did so, the eggs lifted from the ground and began to hover into a formation of concentric circles around Toun. Once spaced just right, Toun gently willed the eggs into the soil, burying them without digging a spadeful.

"Mortal bodies may not witness this and yet live, my servants," Toun said as if the slave hain could hear him, let alone understand his words. "You will be sustained and protected in my embrace, held still until we are ready."

Toun's chest expanded as if he was taking in a deep breath. And now, it has been too long. It is time to begin reconstruction. A lonely moment passed, allowing an errant gust of air to blow pale brown dust across Toun's ankles. Toun's arms extended suddenly on either side of himself. He held his palms open and curled his fingers with a strain that spoke of harnessing incredible power. The protests of reality were subtle at first; a light buzzing in the air that grew in intensity. As the sound hit a volume beyond bearing to listen to, Toun's expression of power became visually apparent. The ground and the air began to shine like glitter, spreading out from Toun and emanating a great radiant heat. Toun hovered slowly off the ground as his blue eye began to glow with greater intensity.

"Fate and Creation, hear me now! All will suffer the consequences of opposing paradise," Toun began to incant. "For the sins of the gods, repentance shall be had!"

The glistening elements began to intensify, placing a lens of overwhelming sensory feedback over all details. The touch of the air was itching, the sounds of the world anxiety inducing, the taste of the air was oppressive, and even the sky looked as though it was pushing back.

"As I, Toun, make this world better, our penance shall be reforging it anew!"

The tips of Toun's fingers began to bead with the red ink that wrote upon creation itself. The liquid pooled into his palms and ran down his joints. The resistance of reality seemed to yield to this substance, holding its breath as droplets bulged and shook at the end of Toun's knuckles.

"Brick by brick! Word by word! This space shall be made perfect!"

Toun's last words boomed across the desolate expanse as all else was silenced. At once, four droplets of red ink fell from his knuckles and fell to the earth. The pattering upon the dirt sounded within the space of an instant. All else was light.

Power lashed out in a mighty explosion of writhing transmutation. The dusty ground quivered and smoothed into a clean, glossy floor of levelled, perfectly laid white tiles. These tiles formed a pattern of concentric circles from where Toun stood, flipping and lowering into place as they were transformed from the earth around them.

Another volley of four ink droplets fell from Toun's fingers, sending another shockwave outward. This accelerated the spread of the tiles until they had covered a circle of exactly consistent diameter. Roughly ten kilometres across, the circle could reflect the sunlight onto Galbar's satellites like a cosmic doctor's mirror. Where the circle stopped, its edges overflowed outward with yet more transmuting power. It reached into the ground below and the earth shook and screamed with grinding protest. It was changing at a greater scale than small tiles.

The immediate vicinity had controlled parameters to its transformation. It was the designed part. However, the divine amounts of brute creating power had a fallout for miles beyond. Tendrils of magic lashed out against the rock, rearranging laws temporarily and putting them back in place with allowance for the change. Seams of gemstones sprang out from the ground before turning into acid and sizzling the base that was the air. Metal spikes, red hot, burst forth as if thrown by giants under the crust of the earth. The air threw about hailstones that turned into balls of oil and then into river pebbles. Swathes of land were ravaged and upturned in this manner--seemingly more chaotic than the changing plains themselves. The influence of the magic radiated ever outwards until it even brushed up against the ironheart range.

The transformation was all but complete. One last solid ring rose out of the ground around the tiled circle with a cacophonous rumble felt half the world over. It rose slowly as it built upon itself; a looming wall of porcelain. Its shape had harder edges than Toun's other creations. It was a ring with four faces, one hundred metres high and fifty metres thick. Vicious pointed crenellations grew out with a backwards lean like shark's teeth. Equidistant to one another, larger shapes grew at wide intervals to form towers, crowned with similar cruel gleaming parapets to the walls below. This wall had no gates or windows. It had no seams to suggest flawed mortal construction. Not a single physical detail about it could be described as flawed in purpose. This was Toun's domain now; a speck of his paradise as a beachhead upon creation.

And the earth surrounding it was not forgotten despite the devastating upheaval. Toun had not spent all his calculating centuries with such a glaring chaotic mass as accepted consequences. Much like the iteration of great weaving patterns of mathematics, the writhing and lashing powers of creation that had upturned so much began to regress. The varying states of the matter around Toun's new fortress were all settling until homogeneous, down to the last touched detail. Though, it was not unchanged.

The sky cleared around the fortress as a familiar lapping sounded against it. The walls were surrounded by a vast ocean of salt water. Such a relatively mundane end to a vast display of power as was just apparent was a testament to the perfection in Toun's planning.

The ocean's coast upon the rest of Galbar was not nearly as perfectly shaped as Toun's fortress. Indeed, there were thrusts of gulfs and fjords alongside curling, scarred peninsulas. Bays of soft sand and scattered islands, orphaned from the great mainland. As if skirting the impact of a crater, even some hills and mountains saw fit to rise from the result of the ocean's creation. The occasional chalky white-grey cliffs were even exposed, though this display of Toun's brand was not by any intention of his.

Now in the middle of a vast, silent courtyard, gleaming with blinding brightness from the sun, Toun's feet gently lowered to the ground with dull clinkings. As if the tiles were made from liquid, the round shapes of Toun's slave hain eggs rose up from the ground and melted. The mass of the egg shells was sucked into the tiles completely, leaving the now awakened slave hain to look around their new home.

"Be not hungry, nor thirsty, nor fatigued in this place, my servants," Toun said gently, "this is the cornerstone of paradise. Stay near and you will hear my whispers. You shall serve me here from now on as we make this world perfect."

Wordlessly, the slave hain took up a new formation and followed the stream of their master's will, channelled through the very atmosphere. With Toun's skill and precision, they found that their hands could take material from the porcelain tiles and shape it as they were ordered to. The strongest hain headed for the walls with porcelain weapons in hand, ready to stand vigil against invaders. The more dexterous hain followed along with the intent of building shelters for them all. The last remaining hain followed along for the purposes of keeping the walls and tiles pristine and clean. The five tribes would be spread thinly across the ring wall's expanse, but with no need to feed, they would breed to man it fully in due course.

For the first time since he laid his fingers upon the codex of creation, Toun felt as though he was no longer lost. "From this blemished slate, I may see my dream of paradise come forth after all."