Dear journal, Thank you for lending me your stone in this place where good clay and decent paper are in such demand. I wish to introduce myself to you formally before our cooperationship commences. Many souls in this world may see you as nothing but slabs of rock, but my kind knows well the sapience and emotions of what others may consider ‘inanimate objects’. I wish to greet you therefore, dear journal, with the same respect and humility I would offer any of my colleagues.
I am Thessemalitha, named so of my own choosing. In the first year of Our Rector, I came into this world as the majority of our kin, the Kynikos, did. Not long after my birth, I was swept up in the finest silks, fashioned by the Rector Himself, and I was shown to the libraries on the fourth floor of the Academy. Here, I was tasked with compiling volumes on the properties of stone - see? I know your kin quite well, dear journal.
It was worthy work, certainly, but in frankness, dear journal, I always believed I was destined for greater things. Pray do not undress my outer facade to any of my later readers, for I do not wish to blaspheme - the Academy is a most holy place, and to study in the Rector’s halls has been nothing short of paradise. And yet, when the ranger Biluda convinced the Rector to open the gates and usher forth the Grand Expeditions, I was ecstatic.
How fortunate that I would live to see all these sights, learn all this knowledge.
I joined a force calling itself the Southern Expedition. Our leader, Shirvaaz, dreams one day of journeying to the very south of this world - rumours say a great source of magic hides there beyond the edges of all land. Apart from Shirvaaz, we have Muulthas and Cylonthieus, our two guardians, and the ranger Hami. Like me, Shirvaaz is a scholar, and has been helping me order my notes and will provide feedback to my work.
It is with this greeting that I would like to initiate our cooperative relationship, dear journal. I thank you for lending me your stone pages, and hope that you will thank me for using them to immortalise my findings. We leave for the south tomorrow.
Entry One
Dear journal,
I should have made more of an effort to journal our travels across the seas. Yet as it turns out, even stonewriting magic, which comes so naturally to us scholars, is not as easy to control when crossing a stormy ocean. Perhaps it was a joke by the gods, for I pondered forth a good name for the sea between these two landmasses, but had no time to write it down. It made me quite frustrated, for I have not been able to recall it since. Though then again, if it was so easily forgettable, perhaps it is better to leave the naming to future generations.
The storm tossed off quite a bit off course, unfortunately, and Hami speculates that we have landed much further west than we initially intended. The Rector’s notes told us there would be land here, too, but it seems they, as blasphemic as it may sound, could be slightly outdated.
For now that we have finally reached land, we have come to green and mountainous soil. Hairy quadrupeds not too unlike those that roam the coast beyond Academy Island are plentiful here; they are much smaller, though, and it is almost a shame to leave here so soon when there are clearly so many unanswered questions in this region. So much to explore!
We will spend the day resting here. I will hike some distance from the camp - see what I find.
Entry Two
Dear journal,
I did it. I managed to convince Shirvaaz that this region still has too much undiscovered potential to be left unstudied. He agreed - though reluctantly - and has sent Hami and Muulthas into the woods to gather building materials to set up a research camp. Meanwhile I have been sketching my observations and studying their behaviours. I encountered this strange species which I have yet to have observed in the Far North:
Terminusian hill elk.
The behaviour of the Terminusian hill elk is not so different from the Northern elk in that they both consume biotic material and assume movement using four legs, also fashioned from biotic material, though neither here is it the same material as they eat. I am partial to Baldhazzahar’s writings on the lifestyles of bio-feeders for explaining how biotic feed is turned into living flesh and weave, but I will not delve into what Baldhazzar’s theory entails here. I can only say that I see no deviations from his hypotheses yet.
That will be all for this entry. I will be roaming these hills some more in search of more to study!
The Kynikos scholar Thessemalitha writes her journal, sayng she’s glad that she can travel and joins an expedition heading towards the south pole. The second entry talks about how they’ve just crossed the sea between the NORF and Terminus and are now chilling in Tamarzh-Kagi (zone between Nalusa and Keltra). Third entry is Thessemalitha saying they’ve decided to stay in Tamarzh-Kagi a bit and set up a research base. She also finds mountain goats and calls them Terminusian hill elks, because they remind her of the giant elk in the NORF.
It had been a less than ideal trip. Not even halfway across the Thousand Lakes region, Jiugui had felt that familiar rumble in his guts. The aftermath hadn’t been a pretty sight, that was for certain, but he had felt lighter and less dizzy afterwards. Jiugui had stood and admired his leavings for a moment - majestic, truly - before he had then conjured his cup into reexistence and filled it to the brim once more, toasting his work. Within the hour, the god was back to his tipsy self, and the man danced and sang down a cave bear’s path. After easing on down the path for a good while, his steps growing increasingly erratic and unbalanced, the drunk god eventually arrived at a roaring cave in the middle of an uncharacteristically burnt and barren part of the tundra. The snow fell thick in these parts, but melted in droves around this cave, which insides were hissing with molten tongues and noxious fumes. The drunk god squinted his beady eyes. What was this place, and why was every part of his body begging for him to explore it?
A shot for bravery, another for strength and a third to flow the former two down, the drunk god felt ready. Taking a detour in a circle around in the snow, including taking some time to fashion a snow angel, the drunk god arrived at the cave entrance around an hour after he had begun the trek of roughly a hundred yards. He stood at the entrance and smiled. The heat was most welcome - though he, a god, felt no need to thermoregulate, he could by instinct tell what surroundings suited best a drink with friends; the icy tundra, while it had its pros, was not one of them. The drunk god ushered forth a small burp and stumbled into the cave.
A long, winding tunnel of fire and stone surrounded him soon after the first half-hour, the temperature turning up to insane levels. His fuzzy mind had momentarily pondered the lack of animals seeking shelter in these caves, but he had quickly realised that it might get too hot for them here. Though then again, maybe they just hadn’t moved in just yet. He had no reference for how much time had passed since his inception; hell, he had no reference for how much time had passed since he had started drinking. The only answer he could reliably propose to the latter question was: “Not enough.”
“HALT!” came a furious shout, and Jiugui rolled together into a ball, spilling wine everywhere.
“UAAAAAAAH!” he screamed as a giant, serpentine creature wormed its way out from behind a lava stalagmite. It was well over seventy feet long, black of scales and molten of flesh, and had at least four-- no, six limbs! -- sticking out of its colossal body in a crocodilian manner. The beast encircled the little mat, snarling monstrously and baring its molten teeth.
“Little red creature who so frivolously enters the home of Yachtectzumatzim - speak your name and purpose now, or be ready to face the fate of all those who enter into my realm!” The lizard snaked its way around Jiugui in a tighter formation, fiery tongue licking at the air around the drunk god. Jiugui hyperventilated and spilled some more wine trying to stand back up.
“Now hol’ on jusshaminute, pahl…--” he managed to blurt around before his back leg gave out and sent him staggering backwards. Upon catching himself, he spilled a cupful on the skin of the beast, the spot immediately evaporating into flammable gas, which then also caught fire and left a sour odour. The beast grimaced.
“Puny!” it spat. “To think that you not only soil yourself in my presence, but that you also cast off your waste upon my elevated person! What immeasurable misdemeanour!” Yachtectzumatzim bared its teeth once more and gaped wide once. “I shall do onto you as I have done onto all the miserable creatures that dare squanter into my private home! Prepare to meet your maker, insect!”
“AAAAAH! NO, PLEASHE!” Jiugui tried to escape, but tripped over his robes and fell. This made him easy prey for the lizard, which swallowed him whole. However, the beast could not keep him inside its body for longer than a few seconds before it spat him back out again, howling and twisting in agony.
“BWUAH! BLEH! What disgusting flavour! What horrible stink!” It rolled around on the ground and gagged, droplets of sickly lava dripping from its jaws. Two pairs of limbs clutched at its throat and another grabbed its own belly. “By the Mother, what did you do to me-- HUUUUEEEEEERCHK!” The beast cast forth a line of magma from its mouth. Jiugui, meanwhile, laid flat on his back on the ground, covered in molten hot spit.
“Izzeh rude, whashu shayn’...” he slurred and sat up partially. He had another cup to drink and squinted at the squirming monster. “I’ll’ave’z you knnnow I… Jush bathéd.”
The worm made a half-baked attempt to recover, but found that its legs could hardly support its body. Its eyes felt lazy and sluggish, and its mouth seemed to drip with fiery drool while its tail tossed around with no regard for its surroundings. “Whaddev… Whaddev you done tooh mee…” it whimpered. Jiugui rolled into a stand and drummed his chin.
“Inderresdin’,” he remarked.
“You wwwworrrm,” hissed the lizard. “You’f… Pois’néd… Meeh… Gwack…” A lazy claw cast itself forward towards the drunk god, but did not reach all the way. Jiugui smirked and had another drink, speaking forth a verse to commemorate the occasion:
”Who’s the worm, you slipp’ry snake? I doubt you know what is at stake: Ev’n in caves of fire and stone This hero triumphs all alone; Muster all the might you can - You shan’t defeat this holy man! You’re a living flaccid rod And I’m the mighty liquor god!”
He then broke into a jolly jig around the defeated lizard, which snailed its way onto its back with a self-apologetic hiss: “Begahwn, y’ tauwntin’... Blergh…” The lizard tried to escape, but its limbs were useless, flopping about on the ground with no sense of coordination. In a desparate prayer, the great guardian of the tunnel, Yachtectzumatzim called out: “Mazriarg… Mazriarg, helhp… Meeh!” Jiugui, meanwhile, dastardly danced in circles around the beast, snapping his fingers and trolling a tune of triumph. The draft through the tunnel played on the strings of the air and the molten magma drummed in the beat of the drunken one’s song. A chorus of creatures living in the cave joined in on the fun, drunk on the atmosphere:
”I present a whole bottle of Pure and mellow wine, I pour a cup full for Your Royal Highness, Strong and fragrant wine.
Let our song never end, Let our fortunes never decline, A cup for ever in our hands, A song for ever in our throats.”
"Quite a long time to sing and drink, especially for one who so terrorizes a child of mine." A sense of heat not from lava or the magma flow radiated near the God, as would his sense tell of another of his kind near, her voice evidently announcing her presence. The small man’s torso twisted to behold the approaching presence, a lizard like the guardian, but larger - much larger - and noticeably angrier. He downed a cup for courage and rolled into a stance. What stance it was was hard to say, but it was a stance nonetheless. He pointed a finger at Yachtectzumatzin and then at the newcomer.
“HEY, I’ll’av’yoo know… HE attackéd ME foi’zt, okey?” Another cup. “Urrp… I jusssh self-deafeneded,” he said with an aggressive shrug.
She held herself back, listening to the nigh incomprehensible speech as her burning eyes flickered between the God and Achtotlaca. A slow carefully controlled drawl replied, "I think my little one has learned their lesson regardless of the circumstances."
She eyes turned to stare deeply and intensely at the floundering Achtotlaca, "Are you not very sorry for having so disrupted my peer and have learned to take such more caution as you should have learned fromyour Elders?"
The lesser Achtotlaca cowered sloppily, burying its face beneath its front limbs. “O, Mazriarg… P’eaze dun loog’add meeh-hee-hee…” he whimpered. Jiugui clapped his hands tauntingly at the creature.
“Hoh! Now ‘e cowerz! Lo, I zzztand victoriouz!” He danced some more in a small circle. He then looked to catch a scent and squinted at the giant. “Waizzz… You’ze like me!”
She rolled her eyes, and refocused on Jiugui, "Yes I am. I happened to be nearby when I heard the cries. Do you mind retracting what influence you've drawn upon my child?"
Jiugui burst into a wild cackle. “Hah!” He skipped into the air and clapped his feet together. “No, no, no can do! Broiph...”
Her eyes narrowed, "And why is that? It's rare to meet a god so incompetent as to be unable to act, I sincerely hope you are not so."
Her head pulled back suddenly, and she looked at him again sideways on, as if she had a sudden thought or needed to see something clearer. Yachtectzumatzim’s eyes went as wide as his intoxicated facial muscles could make them. The drunk god jigged some more and kicked in the direction of Yachtectzumatzim’s face. “Alash! Hurp! Drzink my wine - be drzunk for a day; but t’ dare drzrink Jiugui?! Ha-hoo, hoo-ha!” He kicked up in the air again and did a pirouette. “Idiotick! Foolizh! Stoopid!”
She leaned in close, heat leaked heavily with each word from her mouth, "And what your wisdom tell you about denying a concerned Mother's request my peer? Or do you prefer 'Singing Maker' as I would suppose that may explain a disappearance?
Jiugui lost his balance and faceplanted down on the hot rock. Recovering all-too-slowly, he rumbled and mumbled something unintelligible before adding, “Shingin’ Mager, whozzat? Shounds familler.” He staggered forwards a good few paces standing back up. “Whozzeffereemaybee,” he said to the tunnel wall before turning around. He shrugged and smiled with pity. “Gozza say I’m sohrrey, buzz no can do. ‘S like wazzer fallin’ down or plantz growin’ up - no wine more potent zhan Jiugui. Nozz even I know za cure, see?”
"I see." Her reply was as curt as her tone was hard. She stared very intently at Jiugui before lifting her head only slightly out of the way of his form to spew heat down around Yachtectzumatzim, encompassing him in warmth and soon the stone below most of his body melted- his head still resting on solid enough stone flooring. The lizard murmured his thanks and fell out of consciousness with sleep.
"We should get comfortable as I expect we shall be here a while then," She turned her head towards Jiugui once more and spoke. "And what name do you so claim to speak under then?
The drunk god shrugged. “Whazzin a name, anyway? Jiugui iz Jiugui. Jiugui speakz only underrr ze Monargh… ‘N underr influenze.” He chuckled to himself and poured another cup. “Oh, zhorry, how rude’a me, hereyegoh.” The wind carried the cup effortlessly to float by the giant serpents’ front limbs. “Sho, who’rze you agaihn?”
She took the cup in her left hand, lifting it to her mouth and poured the wine in where it promptly burst into flame, the gout of fire raising out and singing the cup. She replied after setting the cup down again, “Well Jiugui, I am Yoliyachicoztl, Goddess of Heat, Supreme Mother of my Iyotlaca, creator of the Achtotlaca, and Bringer of Flame.”
"Chsharméd," said the drunk god with a smile and a bow. He had another cupful and looked around. "Nice plashe, by zhe wayh. Cookéd id yourshelf?"
She moved her great body around past the other god, taking a hand to comfort the self proclaimed guardian. The creature was completely knocked out and his breathing was weak. She replied only after taking a moment, “I made a magma plume lead up to these far northern lands from the great many who dominate the under earth of the south.”
She turned her head, her eyes aflame as they looked at the god. “So tell me, Jiugui the Drunken God, how is it that you’ve come here?”
Another shrug. "By foot 'n fallin'. Or wazzit fallin' zhen footin'? Def-deffulidd-... Ugh, deffinidly a lotta fallin'. DHEN! … Walkin'... Waiz, wha'wasz yourr queshun? Oh, righz, how I gozz here… Sho!" He pulled up his sleeves for some reason. “I wasz walkin’... Didz I say zhat alreadzy? And then, and th-the-the-thnnn, fffffrrrtr-lelelelele!, and dhen I foundz a gave, cave. Iiiiiiii entzered... This fffffhing!” A fat finger pointed at Yachtectzumatzim. “Shorry, rude, thish very mush livin’ creashur, attack’d me.” He squinted and shut one eye, the other one balling the ceiling. “Thing thaszit.”
"Uh huh. I see. And you uh, care very much about 'wine', tell me more about that." She had settled down a bit, although her tail still moved somewhat erratically she kept her fore limbs caring for the Achtotlaca while she spoke and carried on with the drunken god.
The fat man grinned from ear to ear, his lips parting slowly like tectonic plates to reveal teeth as yellow as urine, filling his mouth like the tangents of a soiled piano. “Why, I dabbow, yesz,” he confessed and rubbed the rim of his cup with a hint of shy modesty. It filled again and he downed its contents. “Sho, wine’z whadd’appens when sweed thingz, or jusz anygindathing withz enuff shugarz innit, migses widd, uh, whater ‘n… Yeast! Yeast…” He hummed. “Sometimez the yeast iz in dhe water already… Sometimes id kinda jusz falls in dhere. Real weird how id worgz. Anyway!” He poured another cup for the heat goddess and floated it up to her again. “... The produgt begomes dis, dis jusz gread mix ov’ flavourz, y’know! Plus - there’sz algohl… Algohul… Al-go-hol innid. Y’know whadd algull iz?”
"No I don't really, why don't you tell me more about 'al-go-hol'. Something to do with the Yeast is it?" In truth she had no idea what a yeast was but the smaller deity seemed quite happy to talk about all this, and she was content to care for her mortal in the meanwhile.
“Ogey, sho!” The fat man rolled up his sleeves, which at that point had fallen back down, once again, doing a terrible job folding them so that they would sit in place. He then proceeded to slur his way through several paragraphs of brewing chemistry and all the different factors any good brewer would have to keep in mind when making beer, wine, strong wine and liquor. He went into detail about strains of yeast and how each strain brought something new to the table, either with a tolerance for higher alcohol content, a stronger appetite for sugar, sensitivity to temperature or other features that would all impact the flavour and texture of the drink. He mentioned the importance of salts, temperature, preservatives and flavourings such as hops, meadwort, sugars and, of course, made no effort to hide his very strong fascination for the effects of alcohol.
“Id givesz me insprashun, almose,” he proclaimed and raised his cup in the air. “Thish stuff… My brainz workz overtzime onnit.” Then he cleared his throat with no regard for manners and spoke, without so much as a hiccup,
Wine, wine, wine of mine - Textures soft and taste divine; To me you are a lord benign! The way you catch the moonlight’s shine - What can it be if not a sign? That our two fates as one align? A truth unchallenged, genuine! Eternal union sans decline.”
He burped and bowed. “‘N das al-gool for ya. Any queshuns?”
“Is there any way to make it less cold? It seems rather flammable too at that, not exactly the universal drink.” Yoliyachicoztl flung out the little question as if she hadn’t a care and was just making conversation, but her eyes remained burning and fixed upon the other deity.
The thrumming was upon her in small part, it was manageable to an extent, although she could feel her annoyance build dealing with the less than clear Jiugui at points...
The drunk god rubbed his chin and squinted his eyes to the point where they were by all accounts closed. He hummed with deep thought and then shrugged yet again. “Nah, dunzhinkso… Ezzanol boils faster than wader, whish is unfordunate down here.” He rubbed his chin. “Couz make somezhin’ thad worgs in hozzer climades, tho’.” He sat down and conjured forth a wide porcelain cauldron. He strolled around the room and sniffed the air. Then he picked a nearby geode melon, then some golden berries, before stirring it all into lava. He then picked some metallic fuzz growing on a magmatic fruit tree and drizzled it over the pot. He then stirred the contents around and poured it into a lavastone jug about the size of himself. He twisted a mustache and cast a glance over at Yoliyachicozti. “Ogey, I gozz no proof thisz’ll work.”
”If you already had proof that this would work, that you knew exactly what to be done, there wouldn’t be much room for experimentation or inspiration as you so delight in, or have I misinterpreted your great sayings my drunken maker?”
She twirled her head this way and that as she spoke to him, taking a small pleasure in the movement. The drunk god nodded in agreement.
“Zound ‘n wise, dear colleague. Sound ‘n wize.” Whatever was happening in the jug went through weeks and weeks of fermentation within the span of a minute and Jiugui then unlidded it and breathed in the sulphurous stink of his new invention.
“... Could thiz be…” He dipped his cup into the pot and pulled it up, only to notice that his hand was empty and that the cup had melted. He conjured forth a stronger cup with a higher melting point and filled it up with the searing hot beverage. He took a sip and rolled the liquid around in his mouth, pursing his lips after swallowing. “Ogey… It definizely burns…” He filled a cup for the heat goddess and floated it up to her. “Do you taste zhe burnt notes?”
A fore limb lifted to pluck the cup up from his grasp, taking the brim close to the heat goddess’s mouth. She turned it away a brief moment, pouring a small few drops careful to the side of her head as her eye and divine sense gazed through it. Finally, she brought it back and lifting her head poured the drink in. The initial flavour could most accurately be described as smokey with a sandy aftertaste, though the texture was gooey and, not to mention, scaldingly hot (though more like a lightly cooled drink to the Heat Goddess). Then came the burn - a quite literal sear down the throat that stung all the way to the sphincter muscle above the stomach sack; in the belly, it lingered like hot coals in the hearth, filling the goddess with a faint sense of joy and satisfaction. The remnants that remained in her mouth produced a black smoke that oozed out between her teeth and left a charcoal (or perhaps more stonecoal) aftertaste. Jiugui had similar streaks of smoke pour out of his mouth, though he seemed less than pleased with the flavour. Already, he was tinkering with the contents of his pot to see whether he could achieve something different. However, just as he decided to add some more lava, the pressure inside the pot built up to unfathomable levels. Before long, the little drunken god was blown away by a colossal explosion of fire and gas, sending him flying out of the cave with a scream
The Goddess silently watched him go, not taking a moment to try to stop the build up nor the explosion that sent him flying. Calmly she sloshed a bit more into her cup to examine it- it would take a bit for her child to wake, and he had to learn well the making of the same mixture. Something like this needed to be preserved and protected under wise gaze, and she had a feeling he had some wisdom now at least, or she would make sure of such...
Jiugui - 11 vigourz -1 (reduced to 0): Create a monument - The Hill of Flies: A reeking pile of divine excrement that intoxicates those around it. If someone were to harvest bits of it and dry it, the resulting product would burn for a whole year. Attracts insects and insectophages by the tons. -1 (reduced to 0): Curse Yachtectzumatzim, Guardian of the Northern Tunnel, with the Madness of the Drunken God. This curse may only affect those who have made an attempt on Jiugui’s life or tried to harm him physically at melee range. It breaks down one’s reason and memories and makes the body sluggish with drunkenness. Targets become prone to sudden outbreaks of erratic behaviour and develop severe alcoholism along with abstinences should they go too long without it. End: Joogee - 11 vigourz, lawl
Picking up where we last left off, Jiugui’s just finished escaping the bjorks he made. He gets the hangover shits and takes a colossal shit somewhere in the Thousand Lakes, then finds one of the entrances to the magma network. He decides to explore it and gets scared shitless by a lava lizard calling himself Yachtectzumatzim, Guardian of the Northern Tunnel. The lizard tries to eat Jiugui and gulps him down, only to then experience the absolute terror that is the taste of Jiugui. The alcoholic god poisons him with a terrible curse and gets gulped back up, laughing bullyingly at the lizard with diss tracks.
It is then when Yoliyachicoztl appears and is fucking pissed that Jiugui’s poisoned one of her bois and also dissed him. She demands Jiugui unpoison him, which as it turns out Jiugui is unable to do. No wine more potent than Jiugui, so not even Jiugui knows how to undrunk someone who drank him. Yoli sighs in quiet understanding and the two exchange greetings and try to get to know each other. Yoli asks if Jiugui is the Singing Maker, but Jiugui doesn’t remember. Jiugui offers her a drink, but it evaporates in her hand. Yoli asks Jiugui to explain what alcohol is and he does so in great detail. In order to make a drink Yoli can enjoy, Jiugui makes firewater, which is wine made from lava, magma cave fruits and metallic “yeast”. After giving Yoli a taste, he tries to improve it, at which point the pressure built up inside the brewing jug explodes and sends Jiugui flying offscreen. The post ends with Yoli committing the recipe for firewater to memory.
Location: The dam of Plotina, home of the Nolin Clan. It had almost been a year since the Awakening Song, the moment the first bjorks opened their eyes there in the Glade of the Singing Maker to find their creator dancing and drinking with a mouth full of song and joy. After the Maker had fallen asleep, the bjorks had waited a long time for him to wake up again - however, they hadn’t stayed long before the forest’s inhabitants grew curious as to what these new creatures were. The bjorks had been lucky, for the Maker’s stupor had ended in a river, which showed them the way to safety. As bears, wolves, tigers and eagles filled the tree line with salivating mouths, the bjorks had all dived for the water and escaped. As eagles had tailed them from the skies, the bjorks had split up to divert the predators’ attention. One small group had headed towards the south, following the river for hours and using the cover of reeds and giant leaves to hide from the demons in the sky. Eventually, the river they swam in tributed into another river, and there, the eagles gave up. This was the Tupil, “the heavenly path”, and the group had followed it until they had reached a section of rocky rapids. Here, they dared not go further, so they gathered at the bank and hid in the shadows of the canopy. Here, they had counted the individuals among them and, by law of strength and size, Nolinya, as the seemingly oldest and largest female among them, declared that she would take them under her wing as the leader.
“This world will evidently not wait for us to adjust to it at our own pace; we have no choice but to play by its rules until we are strong enough to change them as we like!”
The other bjorks, cold and homeless as they were in this new, unknown land, had agreed without protest, and so Nolinya had founded Clan Nolin and declared herself its leader, its boyara. To establish the hierarchy properly, she had had her followers swear fealty to her and her leadership.
“Chip off a piece of both your front teeth.” She had taken stalks of water lilies and twined these into a fibrous thread. “I will string them on this necklace and keep them with me at all times. That way, I will know of your loyalty to me wherever I go, and I will protect you all with my strength and body.” Her eyes had then taken on an accusive shadow and she had spoken, “You will also remember what you gave up everytime you see it - and what more I can take from you should you rebel against me.”
The matriarch’s sudden shift in tone had come as a surprise to most, and for a moment, the jitter of feet and flicker of eyes had indicated that some were about to turn tail. However, a distant eagle scream and the howl of a wolf had shattered any notions of instability in the flock. If Nolinya could keep good on her promise to take them under her wing and protect them, then that was better than taking their chances in the wild, unknown woods… Right?
So then teeth had been chipped and the necklace made. A sharp stone had been passed around the congregation and everyone, old and young, big and small, had offered a chip to the necklace, which Nolinya had dubbed the Clan String. With it around her neck like a mane of yellow spikes, she had climbed upon a rock and pointed to the trees they had just hidden under.
“Now then, my people - we have no time to lose! We have enemies in the sky and rivals in the woods - the water is our only ally here!”
The crowd had looked at the trees - their instincts had told them what to do. Their matriarch had clarified it further so they would commence: “Gnaw them down - gnaw them all down! Toss them into the river and lay them against the rocks! Take branches, dirt, leaves and mud - build us a fortress in the river that nothing can break!”
And so the bjorks of Clan Nolin had set out to construct their home dam of Plotina, which had started as a few logs close to the banks by the rocky rapids. Against these, the bjorks tossed mud, dirt and branches into the water to build a strong foundation. It took days, and many were taken by predators both in the day and night. The simple spears they tried to defend themselves with were hopelessly ineffective against bear and eagle alike, and served better as poles to ground foundations or as fence posts in food storages. After the first week, however, the first den in the dam had been made, complete with entrances to the front and the back of the dam. Here, Nolinya and her closest would rest; the others could sleep at her entrance or in the holes and small caves they had dug on land for the time being.
It didn’t take long, though, before Clan Nolin had suffered too many losses to the forces of nature: A group of foragers had been attached by a territorial stag and two of them had gotten wounded; a lumberjack had lost her life after a falling tree crushed her and instantly killed her; two diggers had gotten into a fight with a furious wood grouse and one had been badly scratched up and unable to work for at least two weeks - if he could stave off the fever from the infections, that was.
The prospects did not look favourably upon Clan Nolin. Nolinya could already feel those same eyes who had looked upon her with desperate hope only a month earlier now glare at her with betrayal and mistrust. She had taken them under her wing, but they were not yet safe - far from it. Nolinya grit her teeth - they didn’t have the bjorkpower. They were simply too few. The boyara sat alone in her den, her head rumbling with thought. She never went to sleep without a wooden stake at an arm’s length away now; she could be dethroned any day.
“Matriarch,” came a greeting voice. Instinct made her reach out her right arm, but she stopped herself as her eyes set on the entrant, a male named Rusan in the process of shaking the water out of his fur. Nolinya squinted suspiciously, but pulled her hand back and took a reserved stance with not a too distant leaping distance to the other exit.
“Rusan. What business do you have?”
The male nodded his head and eyed the other exit. He didn’t comment on it, but smacked his lips and said, “The Wilds test us again, matriarch. A terrible tragedy has occurred: Ververa has been slain by a lynx.”
“A lynx?! What was she doing, the fool?!” snarled the matriarch and dragged a hand down the length of her face. The messenger remained stone-faced.
“She was picking herbs with Bilan and Piot. They made it out safely, thank the River, but Ververa…” He pressed his palm to his chest. Nolinya mimicked the gesture. “... She didn’t make it.”
Nolinya drew a slow breath of genuine sorrow. Rusan closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I offer my condolences, matriarch. Ververa was close to us all, but I know the two of you shared a bond.”
Nolinya pressed her lips together and shut her eyes hard for a brief second, dragging another slow inhale. Then her face turned its own species of stone. “A bond all women share, Rusan - nothing more. Thank you for bringing this to me. Have the gnawers fashion her a suitable log for her journey into the great beyond. Once Crone Olgyi has cleaned the body properly, have everyone gather atop the dam.”
“As you command, matriarch…” Rusan responded, but just as he was about to dive, he turned and said, “Oh, one more message.”
Nolinya looked up. “Yes?”
“An envoy from a neighbouring clan came to us this morning - one Fiodr of the Rod Clan. They have built a dam by rapids of the Dnip. He bid you welcome to his matriarch’s den for a meal and a drink.”
Nolinya squinted one eye and chewed on some air. “I will think about it. Delay an answer for now.”
“As you wish.” With that, Rusan dove back into the hole that led out into the river again. Nolinya sunk into a low seat, front paw tapping her lips in thought and her flat tail tapping at the ground.
“A meal and a drink…”
The dam of Voga on the Dnip was larger than Plotina, but not by much. Where Plotina had only three dens at this point, Voga looked to be sporting at least seven judging by the domed curves along the length of the dam. Nolinya squinted enviously from her place at the edge of the forest. Behind her, a small following waited nervously. Nolinya caught one of them shivering at the edge of her vision and cast him a steeling glare.
“... D-do you think they have c-carrots?” came a small squeak from the back. Nolinya hissed.
“Shut it! Rusan!”
Rusan approached and bowed. “What is your command, boyara?”
“Wait for me here. I will be going in alone. Dig in and keep watch of the woods and the skies.” With that, she crawled out of the woods and into the river, swimming towards the dam. Rusan’s face betrayed not its stony texture, and the Nolins did as they were told. Nolinya, meanwhile, approached the entrance hole under the great dam; she beheld it from below and awed for a moment at its magnitude - one day, Plotina would be just as big, if not bigger. She ducked down under water, swam through the tunnel of sticks and dirt and surfaced on the other side.
“Welcome, friend of Rod. We have been expecting you,” came a kind voice. The inside of the den wasn’t dark and gloomy like her own; no, this one had been lit with some strange, blue lights - Nolinya had never seen their likeness before. As her eyes adjusted to the very faint light, she soon began to make out faces within the room. There were three of them: two males and a female. The female was large and fat, much fatter than her, and laid upon a bed of dow and reeds in the centre of the den. The room oozed with the scents of fresh and fermented roots and waterplants, and a sweet aroma of tree sap laid thick in the air like a fume. Nolinya was almost mesmerised, and her stomach growled like a grown bear. The woman chuckled and beckoned her closer. “Oh, you poor thing - you must be famished! Come, come! The food will be served any moment.”
Nolinya wasn’t sure what made her obey, but she nonetheless moved forward and had a seat in a smaller nest of dow and grass opposite of her. There, bowls fashioned from wood by bjork teeth were laid before her, filled with salads of water plants, mashed roots with herbs and fermented tree sap. She felt her mouth deluge, inciting another chuckle from her hostess. “Please! Eat, eat! It’s not like it’s getting any warmer out. You’ll need the blubber for when the White Nights come.”
Nolinya looked up from her bowls with a skeptical look. “The White Nights?”
“Oh yes,” said her hostess. “An envoy from the Splid Clan to the north spoke of it: They say that the days grow colder, and that a white powder has begun to cover the hills and harden the water. It will no doubt reach us here soon, too.” She nodded. “So eat up, poor you! You’re as skinny as a stick!”
Nolinya hesitated. “I… I do not eat the food given by someone I don’t know.”
The woman burst into a hearty guffaw. “Ho-ho-ho! Oh, my, what a mannerless little rat I am! Oh, my, oh my…” She flicked away a tear. “Forgive me, my dear, I was just so heartbroken by your skinny frame that I completely forgot the most basic etiquette! You must forgive me.”
Nolinya tightened her fists in a defensive rage. “It-it’s fine… You need not talk to me that way. We, we are both matriarchs of equal rank, are we not?”
The hostess smirked from ear to ear. “Oh, but of course, and since we are, it is only fair that we address each other as equals, Nolinya.” She flicked her a wink. “You may call me Luga.”
Nolinya blinked. “... You must forgive me, but I was certain your name would be--”
“Rod? Or perhaps Rodya?” Luga’s smirk broadened. “You must forgive the confusion, but I couldn’t simply name my clan after someone like myself - how selfish would that be? No, I instead named it after our saving grace, the Rod.” She reached out for her own bowl of root mash and started guzzling it down. “You should eat some,” she stressed yet again.
Nolinya felt her belly fill with rage in place of food. “I am not hungry,” she snapped back. Luga’s smirk shrunk and the matriarch rolled her eyes.
“Oh, come now… Can’t you take a little play between friends of equal rank?” Upon studying her souring expression, Luga sighed. “But very well - if you’re not hungry after all, then perhaps I should feed some to the people you have hidden in the woods.”
Before Nolinya could react, she continued, “Oh yes, we’ve seen them. They look as thin as you, if not thinner.” She sighed with exaggeration. Nolinya lowered her stance, but her the steps of the other two males behind her. They closed in in anticipation of what she would do. Luga, however, continued, “Tell me, is food truly that hard to come by where you live? Why, we could feed another hundred poor souls, for sure.”
Nolinya hardened her face. A pang of guilt hammered at her heart - why had she taken charge back then, actually? She was no leader. Luga was a leader - how else had she been so much more successful than her? Why hadn’t she stepped down? Was she afraid of the consequences should the others choose to prosecute her for all the people she had gotten killed? All the burials she had caused?
“Why have you brought me here?” she sobbed weakly. Luga raised a brow.
“Oh, darling, what are you crying for? Why else should I have brought you other than to share with your people our gorgeous bounty - to spread this prosperity to bjorks all throughout the land?” Luga rolled forward so she sat upright, tail between her legs. She reached out a paw and gently lifted Nolinya’s chin. The smaller female flexed every muscle in her face, but the tears escaped anyway. Luga tooted a sympathetic “n’aaw…”
“It-... It’s been so… So hard,” Nolinya sobbed. Luga nodded with understanding.
“Oh yes, my dear… But you are safe now… You are all safe.”
With that, the Nolin Clan abandoned the dam at Plotina and were accepted into the Rod Clan, attracted more by the promise of food and shelter than their master’s orders. Nolinya was still boyara, but even she had to admit that there was no equality in rank between her and her new chieftess: Luga took the title of bolshaya, grand matriarch, and united the two clans as a tribe named the Voganids. Work soon continued, though it was the great dam Voga they were expanding.
A year has passed since the bjorks were made. Right after they were, they were scattered all over the Thousand Lakes region by predators. A female named Nolinya starts a clan Nolin and proceeds to utterly fail to make anything work: Their dam is terrible; her clansmen keep dying to predators - it’s all a shit show.
Then she gets invited to come visit another clan, the Rod clan. They’re so much richer because they have the Rod, and their matriarch is this a fat lady named Luga. Luga proceeds to guilt-trip Nolinya into joining her by saying she hasn’t fed her people and is a selfish hoe, which Nolinya eventually agrees to.
Jiugui - 8 -1 Vigour - Create the Sacred Rod: An ordinary stick that was unfortunate enough to fall directly into the beam of Jiugui’s pee during his stupor. It was found by Luga’s clan in the river, where it had been caught by a magical glowing tree which it had summoned forth. This stick gained the power to create magical lights and energise plants to grow faster. Jiugui - 7
The trajectory he had taken had been calculated, but man, Jiugui was bad at math. Aiming for the tropical centre, he had completely missed the mark - and it had been in the absolutest sense of ‘completely’. He had missed his target by nearly a hemisphere, no less than five thousand kilometres, crashing through the atmosphere of the icy north and smashing into a frozen lake, or was it a sound? He had no idea, for he was deep underwater, trapped in an ocean of newborn kelp. The drunk man squealed and screamed for air, until he realised, quite quickly, that he could breathe just fine. Taking a moment to collect himself as best he could, the drunk snailed his way into an approximation of a swim (with one hand holding his cup, naturally) and crawled for the surface.
“HHUUUUUUAAAAAAAGH” he gasped upon breaking the surface, water and wine splashing everywhere like a sudden rain. The man offered some petty coughs as he flopped his way to the nearest beach, a rocky bed of pebbles leading to a thick, dark forest of conifers just as deep as the water he swam in, if not deeper. Hauling himself onto the beach, he rolled over on his back and groaned from the bottom of his throat. His skin was red with wine and cold, and his white robes were soaked so they stuck to his skin and turned a pinkish hue. Drawing in a deep breath, the man attempted to sit up. His fat belly got in the way, so he tried again; once more, he failed. Fed up with the limitations of his physical form, Jiugui had the wind sweep him from the ground and onto his feet, and the wind answered. The drunk was swept to his feet, which naturally had no balance and made him stagger backwards off the beach and straight into a tree.
SMOCK!
The god shook his head, lazy eyes gazing at the imprint he had made in the bark - an egg-like shape with four limbs sticking out like branches on a bush. He chuckled to himself.
“Rad..”
But then he looked up - the tree just, it just kept on going. He turned around. All around him, trees grew tall as the sky. And they quivered…
For between them walked giants - creatures larger than anything Jiugui had ever seen since he had gazed upon his colleagues in the Sunlight Temple, which to be fair was also the only other things he had ever seen. Either way, the god stood struck by awe, admiring the majesty of a bypassing mammoth and an overhead flock of colossal bats that blotted out the sky. The bass of thundering feet was ever-present around him, and the howl of giants danced on the wind like a powerful song. The drunk god burst out into laughter and raised his self-filling cup.
”Zenia mush shee thish! Whadda place to PARDY!”
He hammered down shot after shot and eventually invited some cave bears to join him. The bears got sloshed with him and invited the mammoths to join, who were reluctant at first, but couldn’t say no for longer than it took to ask thrice. By midnight, Jiugui had lit a small bonfire, and all the forest’s creatures had come to share in a joyous feast with wine, song and poetry. The newborn moon was at its peak at this hour and a section of the crowd that was not busy dancing or diving to the bottom of the punch bowl had gathered by the fire, where Trunks the Mammoth had knocked over some trees and formed a stage. There, Scarred Fur the Skald rose to her hind legs with some trouble - not even her fatty bear form could handle as much wine as Jiugui had poured her - but she pressed on and growled for the masses a kvad for the occasion:
Many in the crowd shed tears, Jiugui included. “Magnifishent,” he whimpered. “Apssoludly mahnifffishent.” A nearby male stepped up from the crowd, head bowed in submission as he staggered over to sniff her from behind. Scarred Fur growled decisively - the male had earned no such permission. Some other males stepped up to challenge the first - Scarred Fur’s poetry had gotten more than one stud in the mood. Jiugui exchanged a smug smirk with a nearby bat, who only snickered back in ultrasound. The god stood up, falling onto the helpful trunk of a nearby mammoth who pushed him back up, and clapped his hands.
“Now, now, dish urrp! dish is a pardy, guysh!” He staggered over to the very angry, very drunk bears, and clapped them all on the shoulders. “Dish is no time to fiiiiiiiiiiighd, righ’?” He conjured forth some more wine cups in their paws. “Come now, have anozzer wizz me! Zhree, two, one - ganbeeeeeeiiiiiii!”
The animals all roared their own sounds to toast and drank with the drunk god. This prevent conflict for all of four seconds, for as soon as the wine was drunk, one of the males slapped the other with a clawed paw. The beaten male keeled over on the spot, but more from the alcohol than the damage, it seemed. The assailant had little peace to balance out the weight of his blow before the third male attacked him. Then a dire wolf, face fur sticky with coagulated wine, joined in and jumped on the first male’s back, biting down on his back fat. Then came a dire boar to break up the fight, but he tripped over a passed-out sabre tooth tiger and straight into the drinking bowl of four giant eagles, who all flexed their wings in a drunken fury and screamed off the top of their beaks. A wooly rhino got into a furious debate with a colossal moose, probably over grazing rights or something, and got into a fight. Some reindeer who had come late all turned at the entrance point, and most of the animals who hadn’t had enough to drink yet all decided that now was the time to leave. Birds kicked off; grazers skipped; hunters ran; and Jiugui, well… Jiugui laid passed out in the centre of the fight scene, drunk as a skunk.
The night had turned to day and the drinking god opened crusted eyes to stare into the white laser of the orb of death in the sky. He groaned in pain and rolled over - the moss was a kinder sight. He felt cold - particularly running down one leg and puddling around his calf and downwards. A drum played a war dance in his head, and the thought of a cup of water made him both sick and thirsty at the same time. Oh yes, this was a familiar feeling.
“Uhm… Lord? A-are you alright?”
The bulbous man blinked at the moss again, then lifted up his cup to give it a blink as well.
“Be-behind you, milord.”
The man groaned and mustered every muscle in his body to roll around. It was then that his sight got bombarded by a myriad of images he had no idea how to react to: In place of his brief, fragmented memory of yesterday’s forest, there was now a river where he laid (well, he had three quarters of his leg in it, anyway); many of the gigantic animals had left, and in their place were small rodents, insects and birds who had all showed up to inspect the man; and most notably were three taller rodents - much taller, but not even close to as tall as even the smallest of last night’s giants. They also seemed rodent-like, with huge incisors at the tip of their upper jaws. They sported thick brown coats of fur, two arms with little hands and two legs with large feet, and a flat, leathery tail each, which laid flat against the ground like a single flipper. They all looked concerned to different degrees, but the one at the front seemed the most eager to speak:
“M-milord, how are you feeling?”
The drunk god squinted suspiciously and pushed himself up to a seat. He blinked at the trio, then down at the small birds and animals, then at his leg in the river (which was being taste-tested by schools of curious fish) and then finally at his surroundings: It wasn’t just the woods, but his divine sight could see that lakes had appeared all over, connected by rivers and surrounded by marshlands - a great network of lakes, rivers and swamps had spread throughout the entire region. The drunk god asked the first question that came to mind:
“... Where am I…?”
The first of the trio piously answered, “Y-you’re sitting in the Glade of the Singing Maker, milord.”
The drunk god shook his hand with a large, lazy movement as though trying to get his wet and sloppy sleeve to pull away from his sweaty skin and fall down to his elbow. His cup materialised in the respective hand once his clothing obeyed and the cup filled with plain water. “Where’s, uh, where’s this glade?”
“Why, couldn’t say, milord. This land’s as new to us as you are to it.” A pause. “I-if I may be so bold to presume,” it quickly added.
The drunk god grimaced curiously at the answer, but let it slide. “Alright. Who’re you lot, then?” Ssssssssslurrrrp, went his lips thoughtfully on edge of the water cup.
“Zwiéka,” said the first.
“Vislof,” said the second.
“Mosha,” said the third.
The drunk god nodded. “I see. And, uh, what’re you doing here, you said?” Sssssssluuuuurrrp.
“We were created by the Singing Maker, milord. There were loads of us last night, but most have gone off to settle down, I suppose.” Zwiéka turned around and produced a small root from a tiny pile a step away. “Want a carrot, milord?”
The drunk god accepted. Ssssssluuuuurp... CRRRRRRRUNCH, rrrorrp, rrrorrp, rrrorp, glllump. “I see. And, uh, who’s this… ‘Singing Maker’ of yours?”
Vislof and Mosha looked at one another. Zwiéka twiddled his hands anxiously. “W-well… That’d be your honourable self, milord.”
Sssssluuuuu-
The drunk god lowered his cup. His gaze turned away for a minute and his lips pursed with thought. After a moment of silence, Zwiéka tried again: “Milord?”
“I see,” replied the god curtly. The trio exchanged sheepish looks. “I get it now,” he added. It was madly obvious that he didn’t get it at all, but he did his best to look wise as he asked with whatever authority he could muster: “So, uh, do tell - what exactly happened last night?”
Once again, Zwiéka pulled her shoulders into a humble shrug. “Couldn’t say, milord. We don’t think we’ve existed for long enough to know much at all, really.” The other two nodded along.
Jiugui squinted. “So you’re saying none of you actually know what happened here?”
“Not a clue, milord. We came to life and, well, there were you, singing and dancing with all the joy in the world. Much more, we couldn’t say.”
Jiugui furrowed his brow. To think that the world changed so radically around him, and neither he nor his supposed creations would ever know what had happened.
A couple of hours earlier... About halfway through the fight, a charging musk ox managed to trample over Jiugui on his route to tackle a rowdy bison who had cruelly insulted his mother. The shock of a six-hundred kilo hoofstep was enough to barely, but effectively, stir the drunk god to life. He got up and clapped the side of his head to put out a handful of moss that had gotten stuck in his ear. He heard the commotion and cursed heartily under his breath.
“Shidd, yoo guysh… Magin’ so mussh noishe…” He rolled to his feet just in time to not get showered with an ocean moose blood as a bear ripped open the side of one. Jiugui had another cup of wine and squinted at the moon in the sky. Then he felt a pressure from within, squinted harder and nodded to himself. “Ogey… Thish ol’ slump’sh gozza go tage a leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeakch… Keep urk ze pardy goin’ forz mee, a’righz?” He then staggered off to the music of animal roars and dying howls. “Oop, ‘zcuse me,” he mumbled as he bumped into a ravaged wolf carcass. After bumping into a few more things and corpses, Jiugui exited the festival grounds and staggered into the woods.
It took him a long while to find a good spot to relieve himself, and every few steps or so, he would stumble and nearly fall, spilling his wine all over. He didn’t realise in his stupor, but where the droplets fell, the earth became soft and soggy, turning into marshlands that offered great living grounds for insects and mollusks, and fantastic hunting grounds for birds and rodents, all of which appeared in the area. Flowers filled the landscape and even shrubberies spawned from the mushy ground.
Sometimes Jiugui would trip and fall over completely, spilling all of his wine out across the landscape. Forests and land were washed away to make way for lakes large and small, which began to dot the landscape like holes in a cheese. Here gathered fish, otters, mollusks, birds, insects and amphibians, and water lilies and freshwater weeds created safe havens for the water-dwellers. The other giants who already inhabited the woods also came there to drink and hunt.
Then Jiugui encountered a ground sloth gnawing on a leaf. The drunk god, still jovially drunk, offered the sloth a drink. The sloth, happy to be noticed in such a friendly way, accepted, and immediately got sloshed with the drunk god. Together, they sang and shared their deepest emotions with one another like they had been friends since birth:
“Grrr-rorkh…” conceded the sloth with a sigh.
“Wow, sho brave…” lauded the drunk god.
After another few drinks, the sloth was much too wasted to carry on conversing, so the drunk god poured it another cup and said, “Ogey, lizz’n… Yew… Yew drzink dis, a’righz, ‘n, ‘n, ‘n, we dun f’d’nighd…” Then he, too, zonked out.
The sloth could barely move at this point, but took the cup and drank it all. It was in that instant that its drunkenness faded completely, and the sloth sat up with immediate concern. It poked Jiugui for answers, but the god would not stir. The sloth felt an odd scent and gave itself a whiff. It smelled like its cup, but even stronger. It sighed and tried to poke the god again to no avail. It would have poked yet again, but its stomach rumbled, and the sloth suddenly felt like a snack. As it lowered itself to all fours and walked off, it thought to itself: Hmm, maybe some fermented berries would be good!
Another hour passed and Jiugui stirred back to life. The pressure building up in his core was reaching critical levels, so he had to find himself a good spot soon, or he would burst. More marshes and lakes appeared as the god continued his journey. Then at last, he found it - the perfect spot. It was a beautiful glade overlooking a lake in the distance; woods surrounded it with an aura of serenity, and the moon shone upon it just right. The drunk god was satisfied, so he walked over to a tree and adjusted his robes.
Soon thereafter, rivers formed between the lakes and marshes, connecting the region with great networks of water through which the fish, birds and detritus could travel into the sea. These, too, became channels of life, as they filled with anadromous fish that laid their eggs in the river, but lived mainly in the sea. Freshwater crustaceans took up refuge in the brackwater, and land-dwelling animals came to the rivers to hunt and drink as they did with the lakes.
The drunk god eventually felt the pressure subside, but then eventually felt something else fight for its exit - something on the other side, so to speak. He grimaced and looked around - there, in the centre of the glade, was a perfect, singular shrub. It would do as cover.
“Milord?” asked Zwiéka to the contemplative god, her dark brown fur glistening with moisture like that of a, well, a beaver.
The god snapped back to reality. “Huh? Hmm?”
“Not meaning to pry or anything, but what will you be doing now?” The three otters gazed upon him with anxious, yet obviously well-awed eyes. The drunk god scratched his head and looked around.
“Well, uh, I don’t know. Guess I’ll look for Zenia or something.”
“Who’s Zenia? Is she like you, milord?”
Jiugui shrugged and drank some more water. “Uh, yeah, I guess.” He got up with some effort and had a sniff of the air. He scrunched his nose and looked down at the trio. “Oh, what’s that smell?”
Vislof shrunk together and tapped his finger together. “Sorry, I let out some castoreum.” Zwiéka clapped him supportively on the shoulder.
“Sorry, milord. We’re still getting used to life.”
Jiugui pursed his lips. “Right. Well, I’m off.”
“S-s-so soon?!” Zwiéka protested. Jiugui rubbed his nose clean.
“Uuuh, yeah, I mean… Most of you’s already gone off to settle down. I, uh, I think you’re already doing quite well for yourselves.”
The trio exchanged some looks. “I mean, that’s fair, but…”
“See? You’ll be fine! Now toodles!” With that, the drunk god skipped off into a sprint, travelling to the edge of a horizon in the blink of an eye. The three beavers were left to exchange looks again and Mosha said to Zwiéka:
“Do you think he would have liked to know about the clan dispute?”
Zwiéka sighed. “Well… I guess he won’t now. Come on, let’s head back.” With that, the Thousand Lakes region was made, and its first settlers, the bjorks, began their history as its pioneering sapients.
Not even a day had fully passed, and already the first trees were beginning to fall. The bjorks would leave their mark on the landscape in a most literal sense with time.
Shit, where to start…
Jiugui was aiming for the equator, but missed - like, imagine if Apollo 13 reached Jupiter; that’s how far he missed. He strikes down in the NORF and quickly gets drunk with everything that moves there. He then wakes up and is met by three bjorks (beaverfolk) who call him ‘the Singing Maker’. When Jiugui asks what happened last night, none of them know, as they were also made last night.
Flashback to last night, Jiugui’s drunk as shit and every animal that hasn’t left the party is busy killing each other in a stupor. Jiugui hears nature’s call and decides to go answer it, all the while stumbling and spilling wine all over, which creates marshes and lakes in the region and fills them with life. He finds a sloth on the way and gets it so drunk that it no longer feels the effects of alcohol, only the taste for it.
Jiugui then finally finds a good place to unleash the flood, and unleash he does, creating the rivers that connect all the lakes and marshes. He then feels the other call and does some squats behind a bush, creating the very brown, very glistening beaverfolk, the bjorks.
Of course, Jiugui remembers none of this and neither do the bjorks, so Jiugui fucks on out of there and leaves his creations to their own leisures which, let’s be honest, is probably for the best.
Jiugui - 9 vigour 4 vigour - Create the Thousand Lakes biome: A taiga biome full of lands, marshes and rivers, and all the sorts of small animals you’d find in Scandinavia, Russia and Canada that frequents this sort of biome. Stuff like otters, rodents, birds, fish, amphibians, insects and so on. Giants from the larger Northern biome also roam here.
1 vigour discounted to 0 - Make the drunken sloths: Modified giant ground sloths that eat exclusively rotting and fermenting fruits, leaves, roots and vegetables. Specially adapted to sweat out the alcohol in this food through its fur, which gives it a characteristic heavy alcohol odour, which again may potentially intoxicate anything that gets too close or tries to bite into it.
4 vigour - Create the sapient species: bjorks: The bjorks are a species of sapient, humanoid beavers. They reach heights of up to 140 centimeters and typically weigh around 30-50 kilogrammes. They resemble beavers in every other way, and live on a diet of roots, freshwater plants, bark, herbs and tree sap, which some cultures brew into wine or beer flavoured with herbs or honey. Most notable are their incisors, which like those of real beavers grow constantly and need to be filed down by gnawing on things. The bjorks are therefore tied to biomes or ways of life where they can satisfy their itch to gnaw on things. By nature, they are bound to the water and the woods and fashion dams, tools and huts out of wood. They tire and get sick quickly in dry conditions, and will die soon if access to water is limited. They therefore rarely leave anywhere without easy access to freshwater both to drink and to bathe in. They live in tribes composed of clans typically led by a matriarch. Clans share a similar scent distributed from their scent glands, the castoreum, which is used to mark territory. Bjorks are highly territorial against other clans, who are easily identified by scent. This makes diplomacy paramount for many, and war paramount for others. End: 1 vigourz. Not vigourous no more.
The Wine Demon | The Unquenchable Thirst | The Rose-Cheeked God
Aspect - Wine
Wine - that most flavourful and ruinous substance. All throughout history, this drink of water and yeasted sugars has been a source of great joy and celebration, and terrible downfalls and loss of face. The effects of wine on the body are well-known: The senses begin to dull; the skin begins to warm; one’s vision may start to blur; and one’s courage may grow to irregular proportions. For every sip of the potion, one’s neighbour seems just a little more interesting, a little more attractive. Friendships feel stronger; the tongue grows looser; passions bubble forth to the surface. Suddenly, you can sing; you can write; you can dance. You are the centre of the celebration, and everyone’s eyes are on you!
Then the dream shatters. It is morning. The light of midday assaults your crusted eyes like rays of sharpened steel. You blink (or try to, anyway) and assign every single ounce of energy in your body to your sore abdominal muscles - you have to get up. You look around - this isn’t your room. This isn’t your house. You look down and your face drains of blood. That’s your best friend’s husband, but you are not at your best friend’s house, either. You stumble to get dressed, but finding your clothes is a treasure hunt in and of itself. While you search, your friend’s husband awakens. You ask what happened, but he is in shock. The door opens to reveal your friend, your husband, the village chieftain and many others. The chastise begins, paining your mind even worse than the headache: You called the chieftain a fat swine; you vomited in your husband’s lap; you punched the neighbour’s son and poked his eye out; you escaped into the woods and forced the whole village to call off the feast to search for you; only to find you here, sleeping with a man who had not participated as part of his vow of temperance. You try to blame it on the wine - a worthless argument. You are tossed in a cell for the day - that’ll show you.
Jiugui can turn any grain, fruit, vegetable, plant substance or animal product with enough sugar content into wine. He can even turn water into wine and can unnatural amounts of wine from small amounts of raw materials.
The power of wine is the power to intoxicate through the medium of yeasted drink. Intoxication implies the above-mentioned symptoms - a little will give the target an exciting buzz; a bit more will cloud their mind and louden their voice; even more than that may stagger them and make laughter come as easily as breathing; and consumption beyond that may bring blackouts and, in the worst of cases, death. Jiugui cannot force intoxication upon anyone who has not consumed his wine, however - while the god can decide the strength of his concoctions up to lethal levels, he cannot actually make anyone intoxicated so long as they refuse to drink the concoction. The power of wine also lets Jiugui grant others reduced or increased resistances to alcohol, even immunity. However, this blessing, too, must be granted through drinking. In this vein, Jiugui can communicate through wine and through wine containers, whispering into their drinkers' faces.
Persona
Jiugui is a similar to most drunks one might meet around midnight: Hearty of spirit and stuffed to the brim with song and kind words. He is a wonderful drinking buddy, and will gladly offer up a cup of wine and invite anyone to have a seat to drink and talk about life. His purse strings are as loose as his passions and he will spend his power lavishly to make certain his friends and guests are enjoying themselves to the fullest.
Issues begin appearing whenever Jiugui is given any responsibilities. He is at the very least tipsy at any point in time, frequently drunk beyond reason, and will regularly shirk his duties for another drink in the pavilion with his friends and a sheet of paper to write poetry on. He keeps secrets for maybe fifteen seconds - if you’re lucky, he’ll forget them first - and has a tendency to get himself into trouble left and right when he falls into one of his stupors.
At the very least, he makes for a comical show.
True Form
While Jiugui’s normal form is that of a small, fat, drunken man with blood-red skin and black hair, his true form takes on the literal meaning of his name, “wine demon”. When assuming this form, Jiugui grows five times taller, ripping his robes in the process and leaving only rags as a loincloth. His hair falls off, horns sprouting forth from his head instead. Everywhere on his body, his skin sags with fat and laziness. The air around him oozes (even more) with the stink of alcohol, and every breath taken is bitter with spirit vapours. However, apart from his ugly appearance and intoxicating smell, his true form does very little in addition to what his base form already does. Perhaps he becomes more dangerous on account of being five times taller, but just as out of balance as usual? Maybe he has additional powers, but forgets them in his stupor? Who knows? He sure doesn’t.
Normal form, the man Jiugui. True form, the demon Jiugui.
Excessive consumption of alcohol may dull the senses and cause balance issues. Jiugui learned this early on, for it took him a good minute to get to his feet properly. A stone toss away came terrible noises and thunderous explosions - steam filled the heavens and some lady deafened explosions in the ocean with shouts about salt or something - it was all very bizarre, thought the creature. Still, he bumbled along out of the pavilion until he came upon a colourful court of kingly custodians, auras awesome and mighty like the forces of a hurricane. In his admiration and stupor, the little creature hardly noticed the fancy, leather-bound book to his left. Not thinking twice, he blurted out,
“Oh, thish a guest list? Shorry, lem’me jussh…” Before anyone could really react to him, the bumbling man had already signed his name - except it wasn’t his name, and the page was not blank.
Over a section detailing that all the forces of earth and heaven should work in harmony to ensure the stability of creation and existence, Jiugui had scribbled a terrible gibberish that, if you squinted closely, looked like a burnt snake, possibly a salamander. Either way, that did the deed, and the rain and earth on Galbar shook violently - on parts of the planet, the earth under water quaked and cracked, creating the first volcanoes; on other parts, the rain clouds clotted together into mighty hurricanes that ravaged (luckily) nothing yet. Docile against the might of gods, these forces could become a problem for mortals down the line. Oh well.
Jiugui, however, was busy studying his signature. He decided that he was unhappy with it, turned the page and signed again:
“Jiugi waz here.”
He tapped his chin with his brush. Slap, slap, slap.
“Alcoholiz alwayz good!”
And so it was that mortals, beasts, plants and all, if they found alcoholic fruit, beverages or other things, would not shy from consuming it - some might even enjoy the taste in later days, who knows!
Once properly signed in, Jiugui staggered into the centre of the court, where the turned to the most magnificent thing the room, no doubt interrupting loudly the six-legged horse spouting on and on about using the palace’s men for weird experiments. The man tossed himself into a kowtow on the floor, spilling all the wine in his cup.
”Oh, MIGHZY MASDER ‘AV HEAFEN ‘N EARZ!”
There came a small burp. “Oh, ‘zcuse me…"
"Your creashun av’us hash been… Susha pleasurr. Your HAMBLE sev'vant raises his CAPP to ya, mighzy one! Ganbeiiiii!”
And so the fat man slammed down the contents of his tiny porcelain cup (well, after rematerialising some more in an instant). Afterwards, he growled a small brrrrooooiph, sorry… and turned to the horse. “Shorry, I intezzupted you, sirr, cazzy ohn…” His eyes then affixed to first the cartwheeling goddess who seemed to look exactly like another, sterner, scarier goddess, then to the absolutely awesome doomsday that seemed to last only for a second. Or did it happen at all? Jiugui wasn’t sure, honestly, but as his brain short-circuited when he (surprisingly) remembered the cartwheeling lady. Sticking both arms out backwards like the winds of a bird to balance his forward-bending torso, the man engaged in a waddling jog after her, cackling all the way.
Jiugui waddles into court, thinkings Epsilon’s tome is a guest book, signs in by overwriting a section on the stability of weather and earth, then signs again properly, complete with a small greeting that says he loves wine, which makes it so all creatures and creations, too, may love wine!
He then interrupts Aethel to greet the Monarch before chasing after Zenia like a three-year old making an airplane impression.
Jiugui - 10 vigour 1 vigour: Accidentally pen down in Epsilon’s tome the reason why we have storms and earthquakes. 0 vigour: Also pen down in the tome that all creatures may find alcoholic stuff tasty, no matter their pallette. Result - 9 vigour. Still quite vigourous.
The Wine Demon | The Unquenchable Thirst | The Rose-Cheeked God
Thunderous cacophonies of creation blasted into reality all around, and the scene of existence had in the span of minutes gone from nothing into everything - water, earth, heat, cold, magic - forces of the physical world accompanied by the forces of the cosmos: knowledge, luck, fortitude, destruction and souls. At the centre of it all - Him; the Celestial Master, the Lord Who Towers of All. The Cosmic King had spawned with such magnificent power this roster of retainers, this society of stewards - drizzling the world in rain and penning the words of Creation itself. Life - life was finding its way.
It was then that a puddle, not too far from the ruins of the garden fountain, was exposed to the sweet dust of a godly shard; that sugar in the air that blasted off from creation and seasoned the soil with holy spirit.
That was enough.
The water accepted this candy of Creation and the two fused into a thin syrup that immediately sported a small, brown mustache of foam - an eyeball of yeast blinked up at the rain. It had little time before it would be flushed away. It decided to do something about it. So the yeast spun itself a whirlpool in the puddle and flushed itself down into the soil. There, it quickly found exactly no one, and it couldn’t accept that - where was the joy in being alone? So the yeast, immediately changing its mind, tunneled back up into the air and became a cloud. The cloud thickened, but the rain from above kept cutting through it and preventing it from coalescing properly. The cloud, rather annoyed at this point, floated for cover, finding it in the ruins of an ancient pavilion. There, the cloud could finally gather into a clump of foam, and the clump spat out a creature - a man, red of skin, small of growth and round with fat.
The creature, clothed in a white silk robe and hatted with a black futou, crashed into the pavilion floor, but spared no muscular expense and turned the clumsy landing into a dexterous roll, ending in a lying seat, a cup spawning in his right hand as if by instinct. With his cup in his grip and a sip to his lip, he, Jiugui, spoke the first drunk poetry the world had ever heard:
Thousand years of brewing art Hidden in the Lian Spring, art! Wine from poets’ gardens flows, Tastes which will undo all woes.
He then looked around.
“Wait, where ish everyone?”
A cloud of alcohol made from divine shard sugar and rainwater spawns Jiugui, who then recites poetry to exactly no one.
The Wine Demon | The Unquenchable Thirst | The Rose-Cheeked God
Aspect - Wine
Wine - that most flavourful and ruinous substance. All throughout history, this drink of water and yeasted sugars has been a source of great joy and celebration, and terrible downfalls and loss of face. The effects of wine on the body are well-known: The senses begin to dull; the skin begins to warm; one’s vision may start to blur; and one’s courage may grow to irregular proportions. For every sip of the potion, one’s neighbour seems just a little more interesting, a little more attractive. Friendships feel stronger; the tongue grows looser; passions bubble forth to the surface. Suddenly, you can sing; you can write; you can dance. You are the centre of the celebration, and everyone’s eyes are on you!
Then the dream shatters. It is morning. The light of midday assaults your crusted eyes like rays of sharpened steel. You blink (or try to, anyway) and assign every single ounce of energy in your body to your sore abdominal muscles - you have to get up. You look around - this isn’t your room. This isn’t your house. You look down and your face drains of blood. That’s your best friend’s husband, but you are not at your best friend’s house, either. You stumble to get dressed, but finding your clothes is a treasure hunt in and of itself. While you search, your friend’s husband awakens. You ask what happened, but he is in shock. The door opens to reveal your friend, your husband, the village chieftain and many others. The chastise begins, paining your mind even worse than the headache: You called the chieftain a fat swine; you vomited in your husband’s lap; you punched the neighbour’s son and poked his eye out; you escaped into the woods and forced the whole village to call off the feast to search for you; only to find you here, sleeping with a man who had not participated as part of his vow of temperance. You try to blame it on the wine - a worthless argument. You are tossed in a cell for the day - that’ll show you.
Jiugui can turn any grain, fruit, vegetable, plant substance or animal product with enough sugar content into wine. He can even turn water into wine and can unnatural amounts of wine from small amounts of raw materials.
The power of wine is the power to intoxicate through the medium of yeasted drink. Intoxication implies the above-mentioned symptoms - a little will give the target an exciting buzz; a bit more will cloud their mind and louden their voice; even more than that may stagger them and make laughter come as easily as breathing; and consumption beyond that may bring blackouts and, in the worst of cases, death. Jiugui cannot force intoxication upon anyone who has not consumed his wine, however - while the god can decide the strength of his concoctions up to lethal levels, he cannot actually make anyone intoxicated so long as they refuse to drink the concoction. The power of wine also lets Jiugui grant others reduced or increased resistances to alcohol, even immunity. However, this blessing, too, must be granted through drinking. In this vein, Jiugui can communicate through wine and through wine containers, whispering into their drinkers' faces.
Persona
Jiugui is a similar to most drunks one might meet around midnight: Hearty of spirit and stuffed to the brim with song and kind words. He is a wonderful drinking buddy, and will gladly offer up a cup of wine and invite anyone to have a seat to drink and talk about life. His purse strings are as loose as his passions and he will spend his power lavishly to make certain his friends and guests are enjoying themselves to the fullest.
Issues begin appearing whenever Jiugui is given any responsibilities. He is at the very least tipsy at any point in time, frequently drunk beyond reason, and will regularly shirk his duties for another drink in the pavilion with his friends and a sheet of paper to write poetry on. He keeps secrets for maybe fifteen seconds - if you’re lucky, he’ll forget them first - and has a tendency to get himself into trouble left and right when he falls into one of his stupors.
At the very least, he makes for a comical show.
True Form
While Jiugui’s normal form is that of a small, fat, drunken man with blood-red skin and black hair, his true form takes on the literal meaning of his name, “wine demon”. When assuming this form, Jiugui grows five times taller, ripping his robes in the process and leaving only rags as a loincloth. His hair falls off, horns sprouting forth from his head instead. Everywhere on his body, his skin sags with fat and laziness. The air around him oozes (even more) with the stink of alcohol, and every breath taken is bitter with spirit vapours. However, apart from his ugly appearance and intoxicating smell, his true form does very little in addition to what his base form already does. Perhaps he becomes more dangerous on account of being five times taller, but just as out of balance as usual? Maybe he has additional powers, but forgets them in his stupor? Who knows? He sure doesn’t.
Normal form, the man Jiugui. True form, the demon Jiugui.
Member
Dinh AaronMk
Timemaster
Lunamaria Hawke
Taeryn
Nallore
Sigma
RolePlayerGuilt
Andreyich
Lord Zee
King of Rats
