#world 02547 diegesis

[dawn-of-worlds]

It is best that we do not discuss Laneth, who dwells in silence, as to do so is a blasphemy. But we must ready ourselves for a world in which the best path is rarely taken, so let us say a few words.

Laneth is both the ruler and the holy land of death, of secret cloisters, of exploration into the unknown, and of coziness. It marks time but is timeless. It is not a place within the world as we know it, nor a person in the sense that we understand it, but we may approach understanding parabolically. Here is what will be said, when the world is old:

Laneth is a massive peak of white chalk in the midst of a barren plain, battered by cold rain. This plain is called the Process of Dying, and souls (a type of small rodent like a field mouse, furred and vaguely bounded) dash across it, seeking the shelter of the peak. When they arrive, they burrow frantically until they reach the interior, and there, comforted by silence, they shed their qualities, leaving behind skeletons that over time become a part of Laneth, restoring what is lost to the rains. One soul in ten thousand finds a secret therein, and is transformed, whereof nothing more can be said.

The promises of Laneth are three:

If you seek the right thing, you will find it.

What can change will be forgotten.

In the end you will be safe, but you will be alone.

#Laneth rolled a 2 on 2d6 which further demonstrates that we do not live in the best of all possible worlds. #world 02547 diegesis

[dysrope]

An Invitation

[Round 5: (4+3)+(2+6)=15, Event: 15-10=5]

In the latter days of the first age, Erland sent a swarm of messenger birds from Baled to all corners of the world.

One flew to the southeast, through the prevailing winds, to find the master of names.

One flew southwest to the nave of the world, to the home of life, seeking the forge godess.

One flew into the sky, calling to the moon and sun.

One flew out of the world, to visit the corpse of the last one.

One flew far west, to the strange lands, looking for a stranger.

One flew northwest, following the trail of a rootless wanderer.

One flew north and sideways, to enter the great pale plains.

One last message was given in person, in the twilit caverns of the underworld.

The message was as follows:

Erland cordially invites all major divinities to his realm for a

Conference of Creator Gods,

to discuss and decide on three great questions of this age:

First: The Name and Shape of the World

Second: The Fate of Mortals

Third: The Laws of Gods

With hope and confidence that the combined faculties of all the great dieties shall be able to resolve these issues, Erland eagerly looks forward to welcome them into his home.

RSVP

[ All participants will get an additional 2 power in the next round]

#world 02547 diegesis #world 02547 meta

[elancholia]

The Sun knew that it was the first thing in the cosmos. 

(Nakrsh is the zeroth; Laneth is not in the cosmos; Erland is its contemporary, but it knows it not; Zaag-Ghvash cannot be seen; and the stars cannot be seen by day.)  

In countless ages, it had never desired to change. It was one. It was complete.

Now, the Sun looks upon the World, and, from the fluttering things which near it in its heaven, its timeless unity and invariant fire hear, at last, of something new: something dark, beautiful, obscure; something hidden from it; something that its blinding light can never look upon. It realizes that there are things it cannot see--that things keep being even when it cannot see them. It hears of Night, hidden on the World’s other face. It desires to reveal and to know it.  

Around this seed of doubt and expectation, there forms a pearl; a child; a mirror.  

By degrees, the Moon is born, and by degrees it lives: a mirror by which the sun may see the night; may move; may change. In the Moon, the eternal is punctuated and becomes cyclical; Sun looks upon Night and Night upon Sun; time takes shape.  

The shape of time is the Sky, Corobel, and the shape of the Sky is the iris of an eye, and the colors of the eye are many, and its crown is the horizon, and it is the crown of the world. 

[Corobel rolls 2d6 = 8.]

The Moon dances with the World, and around the World, and the World must face it: thus, the World turns. In allowing Day to look upon Night and Night to look upon Day, it keeps the peace between them, and they may meet and mingle within it.

Thus, we know the Sky: who changes, who keeps time, who is repeated.  

It has one promise, and one threat: that everything in the world is temporary.  

It has one duty: to separate the visible and the invisible, and to contain the cycles of body and soul.  

In it are contained all colors, and those which must not be shown it keeps in the secret mirrors of the Moon's last face.  

It accommodates contradictions and cycles, but not the final end, which is Laneth. It is the reflection of the primordial skin of Nakrsh, which is the surface of the waters of the World, and of the World's inner fire, which is Erland. It breeds the dreams and omens which Omeara keeps. It is not starlight, for stars are beyond it, but it reserves the light of certain stars in the mirrored vaults of the moon.

The Sky separates and protects: day from night; one cycle from the next; the possible from the impossible; the World from the darkness beyond; the living from what lies behind mirrors. It is always present, and separates the future from the past. It is a skin and a surface.  

The Sky is responsible for color, visibility, transience, the revelation of secrets, duality, multiplicity, the separation of wholes, things between, natural cycles. It is associated with faces, circles, mirrors, illusions, pearls, twins, ghosts, shadows, sets, moths, milestones, metamorphoses; and with prisms, eyes, crowns, butterflies,  amphibians, and flowers. Its creations tend to have multiple faces, either metaphorically, concurrently, or in sequence; to be varicolored; to shimmer.

It has two heads: the Sun, the Moon, and the Night.  

The Sun has one face and one name, and the face is visible, but the name may not be spoken until the last day.  

The Moon, the most active (if not the most prominent) part of the sky, has 28 faces and 28 names, and they say many things, and are many things, and none may know them all at once and live. It is a creature of reflection and mingling. The Moon is terrible: for what keeps boundaries may cross them, and must contain transgression, and what it contains it may unleash; its beams kindle monsters, omens, madness, ghosts, and metamorphoses. It may admit the light of evil stars to shine upon the World. Its palace is a palace of mirrors, and therein are contained aberrations, monstrosities, and potentialities. On the last day, it will show all its faces.  

The Night has no face, and no name, but its secret lives in the heart of the Moon, and it must never be revealed, not on the last day, not before, and not thereafter.  

Corobel desires that things fulfill themselves through transformation, according to its strange designs and ideals; that boundaries and surfaces be kept, though it is willing to admit monsters to do so; that things find peace in change, and synthesis in multiplicity; that united things divide, and struggle, and find equilibrium once again. It desires that the world never end, but it, alone, of all things, knows the number of the world's days.  

[Corobel uses Shape Land to create Mirrorvaults beneath the oceans of the Moon; 8-3 = 5.]

#world 02547 diegesis #the hypostatic names can be changed if they break the style

[zul-gurub]

Of Hidden Things

It is said that in this land's birthing throes, unknown to her mother land nor her father fire, a child was born. Born in darkness, beyond the spasms of heat and subduction, in the gaps where the light of fire did not touch. It was there, in the infinite potentiality of the dark where anything might dwell, a consciousness emerged like a lightless spark cast from a heatless flame.

Of her form she knew nothing, for no light would draw close enough to reflect off of the polished obsidian of her prison-cradle. She knew she had eyes, for she could see the amber glow of far-off flickering flame, and she knew she had fingers - many fingers - for she could feel the surface of the cold stone, but that was all she knew, and perhaps all she was.

For many years she dwelt within that place, forgotten by all, unable to see anything other than the light so far away. And so she turned inwards and slept, for that was all she could do, and wandered within the realm of dreams. It was there that she saw the sweet and sour sleep-dreams of animals, of their families and sensations of warmth and safety and fear, and she grew jealous and hungry for such things. It was there too, in rare moments, that she saw the dreams of the Gods Themselves, and how They raised mountains and stirred oceans and birthed life, and her jealousy and hunger grew more, but this time fear-laced, for the world above changed so much more than her eternal cradle-prison.

For many more years she stayed like this, until it was in one of these rare moments of divine slumber that she, instinctively, daringly, blasphemously, stole the dream of a starlit Goddess and ate it whole, taking it into herself. Whatever celestial glow suffused such a dream was quenched within her, but the divine spark remained.

It was then that Omeara woke up.

(Omeara starts with 2d6+0 -> 5,3+0 = 8 power.)

She called to her those oft-forgotten children of Velarië that could reach her - insects, worms, and other skulking and skittering things - to assist her in her work. She set them, along with her many handless fingers, to carving rooms within her new manse, chambers for herself and her future possessions, with her black prison-cradle at its heart. It took an age before Omeara was satisfied with her many vaults and tunnels and crevices and passages.

(Omeara uses Shape Land to make an extensive subterranean realm. 8 - 3  = 5 power remaining.)

Then Omeara turned inwards once more to furnish her manse. Fearing reprisal should her thefts be too bold, so she only took those things people might not notice: dreams, old memories, knowledge lost. It was with these stolen thoughts she filled her chambers, creating underground lakes, dream-warped forests, and oddities amongst them as a curator might fill a display.

(Omeara uses Shape Land again to populate the subterranean realm with some flora and fauna so it’s not entirely inhospitable. 5 - 3 = 2 power remaining.)

Ever-hungry, but for now semi-sated, Omeara dwells under the land and wanders her museum of pilfered memories, admiring all of them like a collector. When her hunger grows, she haunts the dreaming lands or sends worms and other vermin to seek out more to add to her collection.

It is she who steals your dreams when you wake, she who plucks the knowledge of that misplaced item from your head, she who takes the faces and voices of your loved ones in your memories long after they've passed. It is to her that all those things without souls, from crumbling towers to all the rituals of a dead civilization, will eventually belong. Omeara is driven by a sort of fear-laden greed, to collect all within her subterranean manse so that they might be preserved forever, beyond the reach of divine or mortal who would so carelessly forget, and to only shared with the trusted in times of need.

It is said she shares these halls with Erland, too, at least sometimes. Some say she is his sister, some daughter, some enemy, some lover. Whatever the case, she welcomes him whenever he visits as a proper host should, and lets him walk her halls at his leisure, though forever staying furthest from his brilliant light. She, too, welcomes those who feel they have no place in this world, and those to whom this world’s challenge is too great and desire relief in the quiet dark. However, no matter how honoured a guest, none may enter the prison-cradle-heart of her home where she keeps the greatest and most dangerous secrets.

Omeara is the god of things forgotten, secrets, places where the light of sun nor moon touch, vermin, greed, dreams, revelations, and is patron to prisoners, thieves, and the banished. To her you might cast the memory of a lost love to be swallowed up, or sleep in a lightless place and hope to be blessed with dream-given visions of things lost or things to come. And when a fly lands on you, say a prayer so that it does not steal a memory as a gift for its master.

(image: by Scrap Princess, Veins of the Earth, 2017)

#world 02547 diegesis #this rp idea is really cool. i gotta get in on it. #Omeara #Velarië #Erland

[dawn-of-worlds]

Primordial Beasts

Some creatures from the Isle of Velarië:

The Mottled Nightbeast is visible only in darkness; as dawn approaches, it becomes more insubstantial, until it vanishes at sunrise. The nature of these creatures' existence in the daytime is mysterious; they must sleep in some fashion, and perhaps even wander, but save for the occasional wispy outline visible in some patch of particularly deep shade, they are almost impossible to track.

The Firedarter is a small, swift bird whose life is painfully brief: they are hatched, grow to full maturity in a few minutes, and die but hours later. They live their short lives at a breakneck pace, darting from flower to flower to feed, too quickly for their bodies of living flame to even singe the petals. Finally, as they cool and slow at the end of their lives, they crawl into the underbrush and lay a clutch of embrous eggs, before they finally crumble to ash.

The Lesser Shadowling grows up to a meter long, and is a nocturnal hunter. In the daytime, it curls up in hollows and holes, and is easily mistaken for a swirl of empty smoke, or a particularly deep shadow. It is the smaller and less threatening cousin of the Elder Shadowling, a fearsome predator that, fortunately, is very rare, and spends most of its time hibernating underground.

The True Titans were shaped by Velarië from the bones of the world to aid her in her worldshaping. Despite their immense size, they are docile; their primary concern is carrying out the commands of their creator, to gradually shape the landscape in ways favorable to life. They are ageless, and their size and armor makes them very durable, but they do not reproduce; with time, their number will only decrease, until they go extinct.

#world 02547 diegesis

[dawn-of-worlds]

The Qurri

Shorter update from me this week. This is still in Round 7.

Tepponilamek has 2 + 3 – 1 (granted to others) + (2d6 => 5 + 5 = 10) = 14 power.

Tepponilamek presides over the Messonir as they grow swiftly. Each generation is several times larger than the ones before it, the Windborn gathering new knowledge before returning to the homeland and joining their fellows in building a civilization. Tsallosis becomes a city in truth, surrounded by many smaller settlements – the lands around the River Ajuna are fertile and well-suited to agriculture. Tepponilamek spends much of his time away from the Messonir, only returning on occasion to watch how they progress. (Tepponilamek uses Command Race (-4), though without actual commands, to cause the Messonir to grow and develop).

One of Tepponilamek’s deeds during this time is to create a new race of beings. Dwelling for a time amongst the jungles of the islands south of Nulat, they come across fascinating creatures, many limbed and many-jointed, that dwell for a time amongst an egg before emerging with wings to take flight, mate and die. Seeking to uplift them and lengthen their lifespans, Tepponilamek at first tries to grant their adult form the same grace and purpose while flying that they themselves possess. But it all ends in failure. Not to be deterred, Tepponilamek guides the smaller, younger form into self-awareness and teaches them the basics of civilization.

The Qurri, as they soon come to call themselves, are segmented arthropods with between a dozen and two dozen limbs – the first four are capable of delicate manipulations, but can also be combined into a pair of sturdy front legs for swift movement, while the others merely lerge to move on. They are well suited to forested environments, being extremely agile and swift in moving between trees – they instinctively curl into a ball if they fall, whereupon the fraction of Tepponilamek’s aerial grace they possess guides them down safely.

The Qurri live for perhaps half a century (it varies substantially) before they pupate – the resulting adult form, known as the Huk, is non-sapient and settles to mate and produce eggs in a suitable swampy patch of woodland. It is rare that Qurri know the lineage of an egg even after it hatches – keeping track of Huk mating is both very difficult and very taboo. The Qurri instead track “teaching-lineages”, the passing on of knowledge from experienced Qurri to those newly hatched, a manner not unlike adoption. Some blood-lineages are tracked only by the notable physical characteristics of the Qurri in question. Once out of their initial stages of learning about the world, Qurri, who are genderless, typically form “bond-groups” of three to five individuals, united by bonds of love and affection. The Qurri can engage in sex despite being technically a larval stage and thus infertile – though it is not considered the default part of a relationship within bond-group.

The Huk tend to be fiercely territorial, and while the small communities of Qurri that grow up on the islands have regions they maintain for the Huk to live their short lives, others escape and dwell elsewhere. Some Qurri thus grow up “feral” – unfamiliar with civilisation, though still being in communion with their Creator’s nature they possess language and complex thought, and often these Qurri have more supernatural gifts – foresight and insight, weather-prediction and water-seeking, affinity with some form of knowledge or skill at some trade. Most are treated with respect and reverence by other Qurri, and it is a rare Qurri who would refuse to take one to teach and guide.

Tepponilamek is proud of their new creations, who soon gathering villages along the isles and coastlines on the equatorial region. They decide not to burden their creations with the difficulty of creating cities and interacting with the larger world – they should enjoy their innocence while it lasts. (Tepponilamek uses Create Race (-6))

Meanwhile, the forty-three Windborn who left Tepponilamek’s side before their creator explained how they would grow travelled the world many times, staying as a single flock. They grew and grew, sharing their knowledge amongst each other rather than splitting apart to learn alone. Eventually, they came to rest in the high mountains known as the Tuukasinen, where they settled and rested. Talking amongst themselves, they determined that they did not wish to return to their creator, and that they were better as one flock, one people, on their own. Thus decided, they finished their growth. They stood upright, and never again took flight. They called themselves the Kukan, and at first dwel around a lake they called Muriman. Thought they were few to begin with, their numbers grew quickly – they soon discovered how to produce more Windborne, but rather than send them off into the world to learn, they kept their chidlren close, and produced and taught them in large flocks rather than small numbers. To each flock they gave a name – the first flock who settled in the Tuukasinen named themselves the flock of Thoughtful Morning, and the first flock they themselves produced they named Blessed Future. Each Kukan takes the name of their flock as their surname, no matter who created them – for each Kukan’s family is their flock before all others. (Tepponilamek uses Create Subrace (-4)).

#world 02547 diegesis

[dawn-of-worlds]

cosmogony

The world is a serpent. Like all true serpents it is immortal. Like all true immortals, it achieves eternal life through death. The eternal serpent sloughs off its skin, which was the old world, for the new. Gleaming, slick, wet. A blank canvas of ocean.

Of the former world only dead skin remains. Naakrsh, the Forgotten Scales, a whisper of memory, looks out upon a world that has passed it by. It is animated by confusion, bitterness, a desire to rebuild, a desire to forget.

(Naakrsh starts with 2d6 -> 5 power.)

#world 02547 diegesis

[dawn-of-worlds]

Velarië rolls 2d6 -> 10, for a total of 23 power. She spends 22 of that power to create a new kind of sentient being: the Ataila (sg. Atai). Her power is now 1.

Some say, at the dawn of the world Velarië had need of helpers, so she made the Ataila, the forge-spirits, mixing the essence of starlight with the essence of earth. And they dwelt with her, and learned from her, until some began to grow curious about the world outside, and they journeyed forth against her caution.

Others say, the Ataila are like her: born of the stars reflected on the sea, and she only gave them bodies and voices, made from metal and salt-spray; and some did dwell with her, who were most like her; but the rest were wanderers from the beginning.

And still others say, she spilled her blood to make them, and that they all thus have a part of the divine within them; and that is the cause of their deathless nature.

Maybe all these things are true.

--The legends of the Ataila

Though their origin is uncertain (for they tell conflicting tales), the Ataila bear a clear affinity to Velarië herself. Their bodies are made of a kind of living metal, that twists together like vines or sinews, animated by a white-hot spirit. Though all of a similar plan--a head, two arms, and two legs--the Ataila are found in a wide variety of forms, for they are not born but made. Their parent or parents must forge for them a body and animate it with some of their own life; and then they slowly grow to adulthood, and have great control over the appearance that results.

The Ataila eat or drink very little; they draw their chief sustenance from air and light, and being cut off for too long from either, will die. Sickness, cold, heat strong enough to destroy their bodies, and other forms of grievous injury will also kill them--though they are extremely hardy, far tougher than any of Velarië‘s other creations--but they do not die of old age like many living things, growing forever (but at ever-slowing speed) in strength and wisdom as they age. Some say that when they die, their spirits return to the sky; or to Velarië‘s side; or perhaps they wander in the dark places below the earth.

The Ataila say Velarië gave them three gifts. The first was their physical bodies. The second was speech, and that she originally taught them a tongue she had devised; and this was the ancestor of all their later languages. The third was the knowledge of how to create more of themselves, after the manner in which she had created them first. After this, most of the Ataila went out to wander the world, while others remained with Velarië.

For a long time, those who remained with her were content; and they learned from her the arts of civilization, and were her forge-attendants, her messengers, and her groundskeepers. But eventually, most of them wished to take their knowledge and to create new things of their own, out beyond the Isle; and though it grieved Velarië terribly, she did not oppose their going. Those that left, together with some of their wandering kindred, built the city Etevaasin, also called Tehwatzin, the First House of the Ataila.

[Kuusama, one of the semi-legendary hero-founders of Etevaasin, here shown in the ornate armor of a later age.]

#world 02547 diegesis #i am experimenting with marking placenames using the Comment tool in magma #let me know how well this works #etevaasin is the little dot in the southeast of incarien

[dysrope]

Stranger in a Strange Land

[turn 13: (1+3+2(boldness))+(4+5)=15, command avatar->14]

Syfos leaves Heabrach in a hurry, disappointed by mortals continually trying to hinder its journey. It crosses the datum line, accompanied only by fishes and whales, and enjoying the calm familiarity of the seafloor. But when next it hits land, it is a land quite unlike any other: The Eyesle of Zaag.

Here life does not follow the normal rules and patterns; millennia of mutations and eldritch influences have created an ecosystem that favours the bizzarre and the uncanny - extra limbs or heads are common, even for mammals it doesn't count as excessive until you reach the double digits. Insects fractalize and merge together in kaleidoscopic swarms, shimmering in oil-slick colours. It is a place of harmony and symbiosis - chimaeras of all kinds can be found, for example, a fox-rabbit, with the rabbit head feeding off of plants and the fox head off of superfluous rabbit legs growing out of its body, or the crab-apple and the coconut-crab: both trees growing out of the crustaceans' shells, and growing fruits which carry small crabs within them.

But while all this was somewhat perplexing and curious, what truly caught Syfos' attention was the music. For somewhere at the heart of this mad continent, it could hear a melody so far beyond anything of this world that it enchanted the little stone, and drew it closer. Syfos crossed the blooming snake-fields, and forded the infinite rivers, and arrived at last at the Orrery. This was the source of the sound, the mystical movements of impossible bodies made a noise that was completely discordant with the regular music of the spheres, but held a harmony entirely of its own. In fact, the sound was not truly a sound at all, more a sequence of colours and gradients, but Syfos did not use ear to listen, and recognized music as music, no matter its form. It was transfixed, for a moment and an eternity, but not even this could halt the stone's journey, and though it could have listened to the alien symphonies forevermore, it knew it must continue.

So Syfos took the melodies, and tranformed them into sound, and it sang them out for all the world to hear, and then it left it behind, rolling onward on its journey to the east.

But the Song was not the kind of song that fades away silently. Once let loose onto the world in a shape that could better be understood (or at least a perceived) it took on a life of its own. All the creatures that heard Syfos sing it were immediately enchanted by it, and soon began humming along to it. And once the Song caught a victim, it did not let go, growing its influence steadily, until all the host could think about was the Song, and all it could do was sing it, spreading it further. But none of the creatures that heard it were as perfect singers as Syfos, and so they introduced variations, and soon there were hundreds, thousands, of Songs, all competing for ears and vocal cords, and soon a great musical war raged all across the continent. Over time, a wide variety of Songs developed, some specialized in transmitting over the buzzing of insects, some through the rustle of leaves - though the strongest would live in the voice of birds, or apes, which carry great distances and capable of good mimicry. The great war abated, and some Songs would try to coexist with each other, but a Song can only stay alive for as long as its sung, and hosts are imperfect, so the struggle for existance can never stop, and their closest kin are always their fiercest rivals.

#world 02547 diegesis

[dysrope]

Tik, Tik, Tiktik, Tiktiktik...

Some notes on the state of Tiktik Society in the Golden Age of Chivik

Basic Tik Worker

The Clan Before All

Despite centuries of living in centralized polities, the basic building block of society remains the Clan. These clans have certain rights and obligations relative to each other and the state (which is itself, of course, a clan). These include the profession and status of the clan, which can roughly be divided into the three castes of Worker, Warrior, and Ruler - although there are many gradations within these. Ruling clans may for example be specialized as architects, academics, and lower government officials, and there is typically also some types of work done by all clans - unless tremendously rich, cleaning, and cooking, etc are handled by Tiktik within the clan, even for relatively high status ones.

Basic Tik Soldier

Individuals are afforded very little considerations, and the very concept of personal rights or property is foreign to Tiktik society. Internal clan affairs are not considered the government's business, and it is only in disputes between clans that an external legal system aplies. Membership in a clan is hereditary (on the mother's side. Patrilinial descent is not tracked), and mostly inalienable. Changing between clans is practically unheard of, and any crime bad enough to warrant expulsion is more than likely to get you executed first.

The traditional governing structure of a clan is that of an absolute dictatorship, in the form of the matriarch having total authority over her children, grandchildren, siblings, etc.. The matriarch conducts all business deals, handles relations with other clans (including the state), decides on food and labour allocation, institutes and enforces all rules, and in wartime commands the clan's troops- or delegates various of these responisbilities to trusted advisors.

Small Phalanx, painted in the red zig-zag line of the Kikbak clan

Since matriarchs tend to be chosen on the basis of who can muster the most support, and support comes from close relatives (especially descendants), they tend to be older and wel-connected both within and without the clan. It takes a lot to unseat them, but their age means they tend to reign fairly short periods. Any ambitious Tik may hope to gain control of her clan, and must simply grow her net of allies, and raise large crops of children to strentghen her position. Male Tik are not formally excluded from leadership, but have a clear disadvantage, seeing as they do not, in any way that matters, have any children. Nevertheless, the has been the odd patriarch in some clans, often when they have had they backing some other clan through personal relations. In those cases where there are multiple candidate heirs, and it is not immediately clear which has the most support, clans may descend into civil war, or simply split peacefully.

Over time more and more clans have adopted some type of formalized council of elders to restrict the power of the matriarch, and establish a clear code of laws. The most extreme example of this is of course the Chivik clan itself, where the current matriarch is still the Queen who has been fossilized for centuries, and who thus has very little imput on day-to-day business. The Royal Council has been model to many clan councils, but no matriarch who hasn't been turned to stone would give up quite that much power.

Friends, Food, and Festivities

Despite the central role the clan has in a Tik's life, there is still space for family and friendship. Most Tiktik are very close to their siblings - that is specifically the siblings of the same clutch as themselves. They are raised and educated together, and after this brief childhood, they often work alongside each other learning the clan trade. They often compete for the affection and attention of their mother, but the bond between siblings is often stronger even than that between parents and offspring. While Tiktik have no concept of romantic love, or monogamy, they may have lasting sexual or non-sexual friendships, either with clan-members or with outsiders. These personal connections must of course never come between the Tik and their duty to the clan, but they may end up affecting inter-clan relations, by making alliances possible, or enabling informal channels to ease tensions and reach compromise.

Tiktik cuisine is not yet famous across the world, but it deserves to be. Regrettably the only foreigners who have had a chance to taste it have been Kautaila, who do not eat, so their cuisine has not had a chance to spread. According to tradition, fire and food were the divine gifts to the Tiktik - and this is true. Thus cooking is held sacred, and even among the rich clans, regularly employing cooks instead of having clan-members cook is tantamount to sacrilege. Conversely, the clans of professional Chefs are held in very high esteem, even though they are formally workers. Apart from decadent aristocrats, or selling food in the market, their main duties are to prepare extraordinary feasts for the regular festivals and celebrations. These include the anniversary of the Queen's reign, harvest of various crops, victorious wars, the flipping of the calendar, and many other occasions.

Festive Tik, with skillet

Overall, Tiktik are omnivorous, and they eat everything they can get their claws on, be that bulbgrass, mushrooms, meat from deer or other animals, fish, insects, etc.. And their cooks are capable of turning practically anything into a delicious meal.

The Reckoning of Time

The Tiktik were introduced to the idea of a calendar by the Kautaila traders, telling them of the regular run of seasons of the world above. Given that the Tiktik live their entire lives beneath the earth and have never sen the sun, they do of course not use a solar calendar. Instead, their years are measured in the Magnetic Calendar, between the flipping of the magnetic poles of the world. Though this is of course completely independent from the course of the sun aross the sky, but by divine providence, the magnetic poles flip exactly every 364 days and so the two calendars are in perfect sync. The Tiktik do not use days however, and instead divide the year into 9 "periods", named after the 9 mythical original clans (Chivik, Nycher, Vennes, Lintek, Kistik, Vilret, Chiltal, Sanvik, Litchin), each further divided into 9 "turns", which each has 18 "shifts" (of which the average Tik is expected to work every other). Each magnetic new year, Tiktik gather to watch the great calendar needles placed in central squares flip, and celebrate. It is generally thought that "southern" (uneven) years are more lucky than "northern" (even) ones. The Chivik Golden Age is reckoned to have begun in the year 414 of the reign of the Immortal Queen.

Civilisation and Security

The Tiktik have fairly advanced mining, smithing, and metallurgy, as well as highly efficient argiculture and aquaculture. Most scientific research is concerned with improving yields of crops and extracting or utilizing minerals. There is also a very well developed understanding of city planning and water management, without which their extreme degree of urbanism would be imposslible. They do have a system of writing adopted from the Kautaila, and some voraciously consume literature imported from the surface. However, they mostly consider themselves the center of civilisation, and are doubtful about the veracity of the tall tales they hear of the world above.

In the west, tribal societies still hold out, mostly made up of clans living in adjecent natural caves, and in some cases semi-nomadically moving around when an area has been harvested clean. But the vast majority of Tiktik live inside the walled cities. These provide safety, and, when the supply systems work as intended, sustenance, and most of the reginal capitals have grown into multi-million cities, with Chivik itself counting inhabitants in the dozens of millions. Because of this, they have had to expand multiple times, carving out more room from the surrounding rock, or expanding the fortifications further into the caves. There are also Tiktik living out in the outposts securing the major routes, but even in the greatest of these they are rarely more than a few hundred.

Major subdivisions of the Chivik Empire in the early 5th century QR

There is good reason that most Tiktik prefer to live within the cities. Outside of the walls, even in close vicinity, it is still very dangerous for the inexperienced to wander around. The paths are treacherous and seem to change as soon as you turn your back. Greater Shadowlings still stalk the caverns, and have been known to attack in groups, wiping out entire foraging teams. Occassionally entire tribes simply disappear without a trace, leaving their camps empty, with food still boiling over the fire, and it is not entirely uncommon for tunnels to collapse, cutting of all communication with some outlying outpost.

But with the resources of most of the underworld in their hands, the Chivikvik can provide for every need, and the population growth is entirely sustainable, forever, probably.

#world 02547 diegesis

[dysrope]

like a rolling stone...

[turn 10 continued, create avatar: 7-7=0]

On Baled, the monsters growl and bellow, the earth hisses and spits, and the stones sing strange melodies into the wind. Some stones sing sorrowful dirges about being outcast from their warm home, some sing joyous hymns to the grandness of the world, some sing ballads from the age of stone. Often, they form choirs, harmonizing across the hillstops.

Most stones are satisfied like this, singing with and for each other, with only the beasts of Baled, the winds, and the waves for an audience. But there was one little basalt boulder, not much greater than a closed fist, that aimed for more. It wanted to see the world, and it wanted the world to hear its songs, too. Every day, at sunrise, it would roll up a cliff and sing out its dreams and aspirations across the ocean, trying to drown out the crashing of the waves. Each day, it did this, and its song grew stronger and more beautiful. After one century, the creatures of the land and sea would gather around to listen, after two the waves and winds would still listen, and after three, its song was so beautiful and strong, that Erland himself could hear it from his home beneath the earth. Erland was touched by the anguish and beauty of the music, and blessed the stone. Unlike others of its kind, it would keep its movement and its voice when leaving Baled, and none would be able to hold it or hinder its path.

Overjoyed at this gift, the stone rolled down into the sea and made its way out into the world. It was slow going, because a small stone can only roll so fast, but it was accompanied by fishes and whales the entire way.

To most who encounter it, it is known as the Singing Stone, but that moniker only distinguishes it when abroad. Erland named it Syfos, and it is this name the other stones of Baled use when singing the stories they hear tell of its deeds and adventures.

#world 02547 diegesis

[dysrope]

The Price of Freedom

[Turn 6: (5+3)+(6+1)=15]

As Erland saw the mortals being created to populate the lands and seas and skies above, he felt the underworld, too, should be home to new peoples, and so he set to work. However, this work, the making of independent intelligent life, was unlike anything he had ever done before and so he first tried his hand at modifying that of another.

[create subrace: 15-4=11]

The wandering Ataila had long ago found Aelmd, the great opening to the underworld, and explored it with great curiosity. But the lack of light and air had always kept their visits short. But Erland had always kept a watchful eye on his gatehouse, and he knew there where some among them who were keen to explore further, if only they had the means. And so, he sent his messengers to nine Ataila bands, and bade them come to his mountain, and hear his offer.

Though the Ataila were apprehensive, knowing only little of Erland, and his starless realm, they each decided spurning the invitation of a God to be unwise, and made their way to Aelmd. When they thus arrived at the edge of the underworld, they made camp and waited, and once all nine groups had gathered, Erlands rumbling voice spoke to them from the jaws of the earth.

He offered them an alternative to their starbound existance; knowledge of the deep powers of earth and fire, and bodies that required no sustenance, and a world beneath the surface to explore and rule.

The Ataila said that they were eager to see more of this underworld, and that they had always pursued knowledge, but asked what he meant with new bodies - and what would happen to their old bodies, exactly?

And Erland told them that to free themselves from the need for light and air, he could teach them to remake their bodies; to make them stronger, hardier, and eternal.

Many of the Ataila were appalled at this - losing the bodies gifted to them by Velarië seemed too steep a price to pay for access to the underworld, when there was an entire world above to experience too. But many were still intrigued, for these were the ones who had always longed to see the world that lay below, and to them the promise of strong new bodies that could carry them there did not sound so bad a trade.

And so the nine bands split into two, those who refused the offer, and those who agreed to it, and angry words were exchanged between them before the first group left that night. Those who remained, Erland taught the secrets he had promised, showing them how to build a furnace as hot as Erland's breath, how to make a body that can hold a soul and burn it so it becomes harder than steel, and finally how to permanently transfer one's soul into it.

The first to dare this was Turunja, who had always been the most daring explorer among them. The process was harrowing, but everything, but everything Erland had promised held true, and when the others saw the power of Turunja's new body they eagerly followed. Once they had all shaped bodies into their preferred forms, and transferred into them, they reckoned they were not truly Ataila anymore, and named themselves Kautaila - the Free Spirits, for they felt they had freed themselves from all limitations formerly put upon them.

And they entered the maw of Aelmd, and explored the wonders of the realm of Omeara, and visited the halls of Erland as honored guests, and took great joy in their freedom. But as the years passed, the Kautaila eventually started noticing three things they had not at first anticipated.

First, as they no longer needed starlight, they were no longer capable of truly feeling it, and the pleasure of a starry night was lost upon them. They could walk all lands over and under the earth, and even beneath the sea and on the Moon, but they could not feed on the light of the stars, and as time passed they missed the feeling of that ever more.

Second, they no longer grew. Their souls were bound to bodies that were eternal, and eternally unchanging. Worse, since they could not draw on the power of the stars, their souls too were constant, and they could not grow - nor could they reproduce, since their souls and eternally bound to the burnt clay, even had they been willing to part with lifeforce they would never get back. This meant the only new Kautaila would come from Ataila seeking them out and asking for their secrets.

And this was the third surprise, because most Ataila now shunned them. As the tales of how they had sacrificed their connection to the stars for the sake of an accursed underworld Ataila were never meant to see, their former kin thought them bearers of bad luck, and an eternal risk of luring away young and reckless Ataila to eternal damnation.

Thus the Kautaila found themselves isolated, and spend much of their lives in the underworld, to spare themselves of the sight of the stars, and the children of their former families, and other reminders of what they had lost.

Not to say that the Kautaila are a sad people: they take all the joy and wonder they can from the life they have paid so much for, and though they all spend much time wandering to see new things, they also have the strong sense of community that only those shunned by others can have, and at decennial gatherings at the mouth of Aelmd, they celebrate their existance and initiate the few Ataila who are curious and bold enough to come and learn the secrets of remaking themselves. But they do still keenly feel the loss of their original bodies, and make sure that each new Kautai fully understands the cost before they make the decision.

The Kautaila are always going to be very few compared to the other inhabitants of the world, but though their bodies may be damaged (and in the worst case immobilized) they can never die and slowly grow in numbers over the centuries. They also can grow in wisdom, if not in spiritual strength, and their elders have immense experience, having visited every corner of the world at one time or another. Their bodies are static, but crafteed entirely according to their own design, so some deviate quite a bit from the "standard Ataila body", and might have extra limbs, or very specialized forms - but most are careful to make a body they will be happy to live out eternity in.

Though they spend much time on their own, they generally respect the first generation, and especially Turunja, who became the Lawspeaker of all Kautaila and holds court at the decennial gatherings, to resolve any disputes. Some in the first generation resent Erland for tricking them, but the younger ones tend to view him more favourably as a patron and almost all come to him as guests once or more during their lives.

#world 02547 diegesis

[dawn-of-worlds]

In the dark of the night, they tell a story, and this is the story they tell.

Before he was a prophet, Teiri was a whaler. In that time, humans lived in scattered villages along the coast of Incarian, sustained by the bounty of the seas, and in autumn the daring ventured out in their small boats to harry the whales with nets and spears. These were not the titans of the blue sea, but they still were fearsome creatures, and even one could feed many mouths, light many lamps, and secure the reputation of the ones who brought it home. And so every year many whalers struck out to sea, and every year fewer returned than had left. But the sea never took Teiri.

The whalers' boats were small and their tools were modest. In the waning months of the year they travelled out on that thin skin of water that stood between life and death, and they sailed until the land disappeared, and then for days, for weeks, they huddled there in that boat as tight as a grave, through the day while the sun glared down on their backs and through the night while the heavens rioted with starlight and all the world was black, and all the while, huge and unknowable things passed beneath them, dark shapes like muscles under the skin of the sea; and they waited there, waited there, till at last Providence sent out a monster for them to hunt.

Those who did such things came to feel close to the gods.

A whaler who returned bearing kills soon became wealthy, by the standards of the time. Many went out seeking wealth and renown, and not all returned, but those who did settled on their trophies, building a legacy and leaving the glory behind with their spent youth. Humans well understood that the sea would not be patient forever with those who robbed it. But although Teiri won his wealth and renown, he did not settle, did not marry; he returned to sea again and again as his years spilled away and his health waned, and all assumed that he was seeking death there. Certainly he was seeking something.

He returned from his last voyage alone, half-delirious with thirst, too feeble to row but delivered by a miracle of the currents. The whole right side of his body had been struck, mottled and withered, and though he was never thereafter able to explain what he had seen, he knew full well what he had found.

Lost at sea, his crew had reached Kuollut Kulma, that place whose nature was to be lost. Sojourning onshore, they were beset with visions, unable in that quiet place to ignore the sound of the gears of heaven turning. The others chose to culminate their journey there in death; but Teiri saw there something that the world needed to know, and so he stored his death inside him like banked coals and returned to the land of the living with word of the gods. And thereafter that death flowered within him, and seeing his days numbered, he consented at last to cease his wandering and build a legacy at home.

Through his work, Teiri had amassed wealth unspent and reputation unused, any any who doubted that he had been touched by the divine understood when he showed them the palm of his right hand, his dying hand. And so the people did not dismiss him but listened closely when he spoke, and came to hear him even from far-flung villages, strangers or enemies to his own. And to everyone who came, he told the same thing.

Teiri's teaching is that life consists in preparation for death and that the living owe both the dead and themselves the honour of good rites. Then as now, death was a matter of much discussion among the mortal races, and many were eager to know the minds of the gods on the matter. Teiri had seen the nature of all the gods during his time on the Wandering Isle, but he spoke mainly of the will of Laneth, and urged humankind to master the arts of death not to honour the gods but to honour themselves. Those who studied his teachings learned proper funerary rites, the interment favoured by Teiri's village but also cremation, mummification, and many others, and they learned how to prepare one's self for death and to conduct the living in the shadow of the dead. Teiri spent his wealth to put these arts into practice, applying all the ingenuity used to house, heal and feed the living in the service of the dead, and once the thousand kings of humanity saw his work, they gave him their wealth as well, that he and his followers might do the same for them. And so Teiri and his students flourished and developed their arts, and they came to be known as the Order of the Last Hearth.

And the years turned as he taught and his death grew within him, and so all the while Teiri prepared his own tomb, less opulent than the barrows of kings but more perfect in its design: an expression in architecture of that which cannot be expressed in words, of something that he had seen that he could not say. And as he was a consummate planner of deaths and knew his own like a companion, so it came to be that the last stone was put in place on the day he died. And that tomb, Teiri's Retreat, stood for many an age, and remained a site for pilgrims long after his bones had been pilfered for relics, long after the order he founded had splintered and succumbed to heterodoxy and venality, because it will always be the way of mortals to measure themselves against that which seems eternal.

#world 02547 diegesis

[dawn-of-worlds]

Listen! Listen and know.

In the beginning, the world was silent. The world was dead. Laneth was unseen, unheard, unknown, like a shadow in darkness.

(On the first turn, Laneth gained 2d6 -> 2 and did nothing.)

But the others struck the world with violent blows, blows whose rude peals cracked the silence, and the world awoke sullen and half-lidded, hot with hope and shame and anger. The world began to live.

(On the second turn, Laneth gains 2d6+1 -> 8, for 10 power.)

Listen! Do you understand?

The clamour of the living world echoed off the far hills of Laneth, who dwells in silence, who is silence; Laneth, the land of death. And that echo was the sound of life, combined with something else. At the farthest edge of the world, something new arose, cold and quiet and mysterious, an impenetrable realm of frozen cliffs. This place which has no name is a reminder that all things have an end, and an invitation to pass beyond even the end of the world.

(Laneth shapes land and shapes climate to raise a lifeless realm of ice at the northernmost rim of the world. Probably it will do something else a little later to get to 4 or less, but for now that leaves it with 5 power.)

Laneth! Laneth! Laneth! That name To speak it is profanity. To write it is profanity. To think it is profanity. To know it is a prayer. In death we feed your secret flame: To shed our tongues and speak no more. To shed our hands and write no more. To shed our minds and think no more. To know no more despair.

#world 02547 diegesis #as noted there will likely be one more action coming at some point this week for tax structuring purposes

[dawn-of-worlds]

...there's a way

At Haebarik's command, Maretik descends and seeks out its charges. The plains of Nak it avoids for fear of the Priesthood's corruption. The city of Etevaasin, lacking many humans, is likewise left alone. But every other region of Incarien is considered, and throughout a single long night, the whale descends first here, then there, swallowing small villages and the fields surrounding them, shrines and stables and storerooms, lone fishing boats washed out to sea.

A wide array of people is taken and carried through the skies. Farmers and foragers of southern Incarien, whalers from the far northeast, a few shepherds and hermits from less-settled inlands, Corobel's followers who journeyed west. Together, they number over a thousand.

After a while, no more souls are taken. The Whale then flies east; past the lands of those cursed priests, past the sea, past Baled. The sun climbs in the sky as its journey draws to a close; when it at last lands (or rather floats very close to the ground) it is nearing noon.

The occupants are expelled on the continent called Lekesh, in a place where two great rivers merge into one. Among them are shepherds, farmers, fishermen, potters of Erland, tomb-builders of Laneth, weather-mages of Tepponilamek, and a few worshippers of Naakrsh, for while Maretik was instructed to avoid those places where its Priesthood holds sway, the serpent-god is closer to humanity than any other deity, and not easily made forgotten.

Silently, the crowd stares at the Whale as it gently ascends again. Then, as Maretik disappears behind the clouds, it is as if a spell is broken, and a great commotion erupts. People run about in a panic, looking for friends and family that may or may not have been taken. Some search through piles of disgorged goods, looking for food, tools, building materials. Goats and pigs flee into the wilderness, where they shall breed and in turn be recaptured.

Three groups arise throughout this confusing first day, each quick to secure a portion of the spoils for itself, each desperate to acquire more. Disputes arise over the division of property, the ownership of the strange treasures found, over leadership and authority. But most of all, there is disagreement over the nature of this upheaval.

A first group, of whalers and fishers but Windwhisperers and southern farmers too, declares that their displacement has no deeper meaning, and that they are thus free to seek a way home. Their leader is a shepherdess from northeast Incarien. Though she alone was taken from her village, and loneliness weighs down on her with each moment, her spirit remains unbroken and her will focused.

The second group contains poor farmers, potters, tomb-builders, the odd devotee of Naakrsh. They claim that these fertile lands are a gift. The gods brought them here to fulfill a sacred plan (though its particulars must still be divined). A temple must be constructed, a priesthood annointed, a city built to house the faithful, so that at last their great purpose may be gleaned.

The third group is chiefly derived from western villages, left in the wake of Corobel's pilgrimage. They simply hold that this is a punishment, that their ancestors reneged on a divine quest, and are now banished from their sun-blessed homelands. Their members prophesize coming disasters, further punishments, harsh penances that must be undertaken before the sun and moon will at last love them again, and permit their distant descendants return. Already a hundred small sects are emerging, each with their own idea of the exact atonements required.

But then, when war seems inevitable, a handful of voices call for calm. They belong to four ataila: the only ataila on this continent, traders and travelers and teachers, taken along the humans by careless mistake. They alone did not scavenge, joined no side, made no claim about their fate. The appearance of a neutral party gives the factions pause, and uneasy negotiations are started.

The four Ataila, whose names are Koskela, Vainaa, Mianen, and Uulaa, remark that there are three rivers, and three realms between them, and three quarreling groups. Can each not simply choose a realm as their own, and settle there in peace?

"What of the scattered foods and tools?" a human asks. "Who shall take what with them? No group knows what the others have claimed, but all suspect theirs to have the worst lot."

"One by one, each group will bring out what they gathered, and place it with one of us four Ataila, favoring the one whose portion is least. Then, when all deem the division to be fair, there will be a drawing of lots, and each may claim a share and be assured it is equal to the others'."

"Each of you four?" asks a one-eyed human, her tone dripping with mistrust. "You count peculiar, unless you intend to claim one share all to your own kind."

"No." the oldest of the Ataila responds. "The fourth portion shall belong to everyone here. Many have only joined a side out of fear and hunger, but in their hearts are undecided. Here, where the rivers meet, there shall be built a city where all are free to come and go."

"And then?" the human presses on. "We all play nice and go our own ways and never bother each other again? How do you expect that to work? One bad winter and we'll be at each other's throats again. If it won't be us, it'll be our children, who don't care for the promises we made."

"The portions are placed with us Ataila, for we are each part of one." so old Uulaa replies. "Whether you will travel away, or remain here, one of us shall join you. We shall not make more of ourselves, save to replace any lost to accident or violence, shall claim no land or titles, and shall strive only to keep the peace between realms. We do not die of old age, nor starve or grow sick, and so each realm will always have an envoy that the other three may trust."

And so it transpired: the scavenged goods were divided, lots were drawn, a few hasty trades made, and then the three groups each set out to settle those lands they had received, each accompanied by an Atai.

All lands north of the rivers was claimed by the first group, who built boats and traveled downriver in search of the sea, and thus called themselves the Seekers. They crowned the shepherdess their Azure Queen, and declared it their calling to find a way back home, and though none alive today would succeed, their mastery of wind and wave let them swiftly chart all lands bordering the sea between Lekesh and Rasira. Their Atai, Vainaa, serves as instructor to royal scions, and regales them with tales of their illustrious line and long-lost Incarien.

All lands to the south were claimed by the second group, and are found to be rich in lumber and good soil. Led by a disparate priesthood that includes the faithful Atai Koskela, they constructed a great city, home to many temples and shrines, whose creeds are interminglings of Incarien's many faiths. Its priest-council was quick to institute a labor draft, to be used for the construction of city-walls, roads, and monuments, and so these people are called the Builders. Many of them hold that, as the only group to accept the gift they've been given, they should have claim to all three realms, but as long as uncharted lands remain this sentiment is unlikely to lead to bloodshed.

Those remaining lands to the west, rugged and forested, were claimed by the third group, which split up in many small settlements unified by their fierce common faith. They decided that none of their sinful selves deserved the glory of rulership, and thus remain without king or queen. Unofficially, their Atai Mianen has assumed many responsibilities, and so serves as worldly sovereign in all but name. Their name is the Penitent. Their most remote settlements have reached the western mountains, and the bravest there have climbed its peaks and erected altars to Corobel at the summits.

And the stragglers, the sceptics, the undecided, and the opportunistic: those remained with old Uulaa, and established a city, and in time would construct three great bridges to join the rivers' shores. Being drawn from those who would not submit to king or priest or god, they chose to rule themselves. When a decision must be made, the citizens of the Free City gather in the market-square, and there cast their votes. They take great pride in this custom, and thus refer to themselves as the Unruled, and their Atai serves as naught but a diplomat.

(Command Avatar (Create City) for 1 power, 2 power remaining, see below for dark tax structuring magic)

(I can't Command Race (4pt) to found a second city. I could spend 1 point to Command Avatar again and create the second city next turn, but that's ugly from a story perspective, so I'm spending my two and asking any two deities out of Valerie/Laneth/Erland/Naakrsh/Tepponilamek to contribute one point. In return the contributors' orders will be slightly more succesful in the syncretic intermixing that's ongoing, and which will be the subject of a later post of mine.)

(I took the second Create City under the assumption that at least two of you take me up on this offer; if I'm proven wrong I'll pay the deficit next turn)

(edit: seems like it's Erland and Teppo who contributed)

#world 02547 diegesis

[dawn-of-worlds]

(Omeara starts her turn with 2d6+3(rebate) -> 3,1+3 = 7 power.)

It was upon the peak of Balach-Tur that Ohm emerged, and it was there that it first tasted the many foreign delicacies of the surface. Here, the soil tasted... sweeter. Baked, almost, with a sort of diurnal zest to it. With a... what was that? A hint of... sidereal essence? Oh, yes, the palate was simply exquisite. This was earth that would satisfy an average worm for life, Ohm thought. But Ohm was no normal worm. No, not at all. Ohm was a special worm, and it had a proportionately special job.

Between bites, Ohm looked around. It could see no signs of beings like its Mother, nor any signs of their handiwork. So, it did as it was told and began to crawl, and slither, and inch down the side of the mountain to the vast waters of the sea.

As it went, it sampled new delights: things that had been stuck between the earthen fibres of its Mother's mighty cloak and had since taken root in the virgin soil of Morne. Ohm ate the first ________, ______, and the _______. Even the precious ____-_______ succumbed to its maw; so beautiful was it that surely Men and Atai would have sung of it a thousand thousand songs, but, alas, all things eaten by Ohm are forgotten, and now only the empty space where it once was is evidence that it ever was at all.

But Ohm is - truthfully, tragically, thankfully - a messy eater. And so, as it ate it left behind crumbs of those things, which remained and persisted and took root. Forests of conifers rose from those cast off crumbs, as did the ferns that cowered in their shadows, and some even clung to Ohm's hide, sprouting from the scraps that stuck to it. It left behind grooves between mountain and sea, too, which would one day become rivers, and the beds it carved to rest in became lakes, until all of Morne was sampled and all of Morne was seen.

Once Ohm was certain it had surveyed all there was, it perched upon the peak of Balach-Tur once more and peered beyond. There it spotted a land across the water - Incarien - and began to crawl, and slither, and inch to its foreign shores.

Incarien tasted different, Ohm thought, but no less delicious. It had a delightfully full flavour to it: raw orogenic flesh with a smoky aftertaste, drizzled with seasonal showers and seasoned with sea salt. This, Ohm new immediately, was a dish made by a chef he'd not yet patroned. So, it did as it was told and began to move along the coast, eating all the while.

For many suns and many moons Ohm travelled and tasted the barren shores and saw nothing save those rough shapes formed by another's hand. However, behind it, always behind it, crumbs fell and took root and painted the bare canvas with life. Grasses bloomed, nurtured by the coastal rains, and pioneering trees grew tall and proud. When it had reached the western shore a baleful and cold wind blew, and it caused Ohm to shiver. As it did, many of those ancient conifers which had long since grown to be mighty things upon its hide fell, and dense forests of pines and cedars and redwoods rose from their broken lengths.

Finally, very finally, having nearly circumnavigated all of Incarien, Ohm saw the works of Others. Dense, steaming jungles, both to the south and east. A veritable buffet of bird songs and colourful flowers and tangled and dense underbrush plump with tiny creatures and raw verdancy. Ohm drooled. All needed to be tasted. All needed to be forgotten.

(Omeara(?) uses Shape Climate to make a temperate coastal region around Morne and Incarien, uses Shape Climate again to sweep cold down from the north and create boreal-like environs, and uses Shape Land to make coniferous forests around Morne and Incarien's coasts, with a notable density on the western coast of Incarien where the water currents are warm and rainfall is most plentiful. 7 - 3 - 2 - 2 = 0 power remaining.)

#world 02547 diegesis #this one's pretty boring but the climates have to get done at some point #feel free to touch up the map if any of you want to. i won't be offended