Lords of Creation

**Razade** · 2023-09-09, 05:39 PM (ISO 8601)

What Dwells Above: The Void

Having considered the strangeness of the other Gods and the lives they brought into the world and so the small motes ascended back into the sky though it was not alone. With it came some Kami though as they traveled with the motes of sun and moon they slowly became strange, alien and detached from the First World for the Void was anathema to even life and grand as the Kami. With little else to go, many drifted out with the Stellar Rays but others settled onto the Sun and Moon and became the lesser spirits of these places. The largest for sure settled upon the silvery Moon, but tales would be told of their exploits at another time.

Yet What Dwells Above was not yet done in its own attempts to mimic the life others had made. With Kami and Human and the great Forge, it twisted and churned the ideas around and from them spawned large men, towering some four or five meters in full. Broad of shoulders and strong, they were not quite fully baked within the great Forge. Dim minded and slow, the Shattered Star discarded them to the Hands Outstretched. Perhaps, in time, they would rise from their base creation but the great Sun and Moon cared naught. With it however, for it was not unkind as such, What Dwells above scattered another creature across the land. Like the bovine of the First World but stronger, larger, and more ill tempered, Aurochs mighty and powerful arose across the many lands of the First World.

For now it seemed, all it could do was reach out within the powers that flowed from the sky, and in those born close to this power arose new and strange magics. Power over the heat and flame, domain over the silvery cold of the Moon was born in special few mortals. Some might say they were favored by the Sun and Moon yet What Dwells above had no such capacity to favor, or disfavor. It was purely dependant on the mana that traveled through the First World that would bring such children to maturity and power.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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Roll Over: 4

Create Monsterous Sub-Race (1AP) - Lunar Kami: A segment of Kami that traveled into the Void with What Dwells Above. Though powerful, they no longer have a direct connection to the First World and as such have lost much of their intellect and creativity. Now dwelling on the otherwise lifeless Moon, their work in silence.[Life (Megafauna) 7/10]

Create Monstorous Sub-Race (1AP) - Giants: Towering creatures that dwell on the Hands Outstretched, Giants are simple and brutish life that arises from the closeness between Kami and humans. Giants differ across the Hands, with those in the North and South Poles perfectly situated to life in the cold while those on the Equator are more like their human Cousins. [Life (Megafauna) 8/10]

Create Monsters (Artifact Charge) - Auroch: Massive bovines with less than gentle temperament, Auroch range across the First World wherever sentient life may be found. The big cows may or may not be chill with that.

Create Mythic Sub-Concept (2AP) - Solstice Arts: A specialized form of Arcane Magic that taps directly into the power that flows from the Sun and Moon and their travels in the sky, Solstice Arts are born in individuals with a strong association with either the Sun or Moon, typically on the Summer or Winter Solstice though outliers do exist. These powers manifest in those born as such as powerful mages with specific and often unique talents. [Magic (Arcane Magic) 10/10]

4 - 1 - 1 - 2 = 0AP

**Zelphas** · 2023-09-09, 06:30 PM (ISO 8601)

Immortals Watching Mortals

So far, only a few mortals had disturbed Telas in their solitude, and none of the other gods. This is good personally, though the irritation of the visits was growing despite Telas' understanding of their own plans. Perhaps they are not the ones best suited for their own designs on the world...

But that can be considered later. As they have since the moment they gained awareness, Telas is watching, considering the actions of the world around them and especially those with power within it. Many seem to be inordinately fond of the mortals--raising them, giving them gifts, shaping them to act in certain ways and work towards certain designs... and reacting with and against them as others put their hand in. It is... interesting. And that is good. Perhaps Telas should take action in these things as well.

As long as Telas does not act themself, they can always disavow the affair; and so, they seek out a form to warp. Adanat, filled with water and hopping mortals. The hoppers could be used... but directly stealing some invites attention and ire from their maker. Telas could argue that their actions were simply a response to the other's alteration of the Temptations, but that seems like far too much work. Instead, they chose a different track. The Lolats were not so removed from their froglike nature; insects and small life were still their food of choice, and they are still undeveloped enough that they hunt and seek for their food. Many of the larger, slower insect-like creatures were being hunted to extinction. This could make an interesting story.

Telas chooses one such creature, a large, faintly bioluminescent worm that lived in Adanat's few caves and tunnels. They picked them up, and simply extended their life, giving them growth, intelligence, and a larger place to hide from the hoppers above. The choice to sacrifice their young to the upper air to protect the society below was a creation of the news creatures themselves, a surprise and a delight. As a reward for their cleverness, Telas put in their minds a way to ease their life below, without revealing themselves to those above: using the Arcane Magic on themselves for specific, specialized forms. The fact that they used it to create a regimented society is, once again, not what Telas planned...

Or at least, that is what the god will say if anyone ever asks.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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3 AP + 4 AP = 7 AP

Alter Land (1 AP) - Caverns of Yl: By firming up the bedrock of Adanat and directing the flow of constant rains along specific channels, Telas has created a winding series of caverns and depths deep under the surface of the continent. These caves are irregular in size and shape, with soaring amphitheaters several stories high interspersed with giant underground lakes, tiny tunnels less than two feet in circumference, and uneven passages and drops abounding. The Caverns of Yl spread underneath all of Adanat except for Telas' Promise. [Life (Worms) 1/10 AP]

Create Race (2 AP) - Yloch: Descended from glowing worms, the Yloch [YEE-lock] are born from white eggs about the size of an average human fist and resemble their ancient ancestors almost exactly at birth. Both the eggs and the newborn worms taste very pleasant to Lolats. Yloch deliberately leave their eggs in places that can possibly be discovered by the other race as a way of hiding their intelligence and presence from them, "sacrificing" some of their children to keep their society intact. If an infant Yloch survives, they grow to be 2-3 feet long and gain several rings of smaller tentacles on their body that they can use as manipulators/alternate hands and feet. Yloch that reach adulthood in the Caverns of Yl are generally both curious and fearful of the above world, remembering the trials it took to find safety but also the smells and sounds of outer life. [Life (Worms) 3/10 AP]

Create Mythic Sub-Concept (2 AP) - Lifeshaping: an offshoot of Arcane Magic, Lifeshaping focuses on altering the physical body of living creatures to serve specific purposes. Lifeshapers can enhance or remove muscle, add gills or lungs, or even alter brain chemistry and develop entirely new limbs--if they have the power and the skill to do so. Lifeshapers are unable to alter their own body, but can alter the bodies of others given enough time and Arcane power. This power can theoretically offset the madness that comes from overuse of Arcane Magic, but it is a self-defeating system--using Lifeshaping to offset Arcane Madness is still a use of Arcane Magic, after all. [Emotion (Addiction) 5/10 AP]

Create Racial Society (2 AP) - Yloch Ratum: In the Yloch language, "ratum" translates roughly as "purpose", "life", or "duty". Yloch Ratum is shaped by two major factors: the ordeal that every Yloch faces before reaching the Caverns, and the power of Lifeshaping. Every Yloch life is prized, and the idea of Yloch murdering Yloch is a horrifying, nearly impossible concept; however, every Yloch is expected to contribute to the safety and growth of Yloch Ratum from the moment they arrive. When a new Yloch reaches the Caverns, they are taken to a Lifeshaper, who alters them to serve a task for the community; that task is their life from that moment onwards, and it defines their place in Yloch society and their duties. There are a wide variety of different shapes and roles in Yloch Ratum; some of the more notable are those Yloch who are given rudimentary eyes and sent up to observe the World Above for any danger to the Ratum, those who are given enhanced intelligence (often with mental instability) and expected to lead and guide the Ratum, and those few that are left unchanged and trained as new Lifeshapers before the mental faculties of the old Lifeshapers deteriorate. [Life (Worms) 5/10 AP]

7 - 7 = 0 AP Remaining

**DasIrrlicht** · 2023-09-09, 10:49 PM (ISO 8601)

Naury, Tales of Travels
Naury has spend quite some time watching and learning the Stories of the People of the Chain. Of course, they where not always correct, but they captured much more of the whole picture then the souls could, as it was far more then what they believed the most important parts. Latest arrivals where telling of the situation on ⁠Yalasere, as it apparently had worsened, which as interesting as the stories are, was worth it to worry for Naury... Afterall, it may be only a question of time till they spread and threaten to make everywhere like they desire. Bloodbaths.

So Naury decided to go for a walk. See first hand how the rest of the world is going...

In the absence of the cloaked stranger (Some claim they are something above even the Kami & Loci that came to show themself to the people over the recent times), another set of Stories arrived from away. The Dragons, which they knew terrorised the lands occasionally, have come to a agreement with the Sun Cult apparently. United by a desire to see the world burn, the 'Humans' (The People of the Chain do not like calling the Cultists from their original home that anymore, but have yet to come up with a agreed term for them between each other) seemingly ride what must be their young. While this where outright horror tales for the People, they did leave some of them with ideas...

Of course, any attempt to negotiate with the True Dragons has left them at best insulted, at worst aimed to destroy as many villages as possible before they eventually fall to people mad enough to use the arcane arts in defense of their homes. However, lesser creatures have been able to more easily fall under the peoples infulence. The Auroch have a strong will, fiercely independent, and of a even stronger body. A strong body that would be of use to the People, as they lured them into fenced of areas, bribed them with the grasses and wheats the Loci helped them grow, as they could be made to tile the ground to make it even more fertile, and carry the produce towards the markets at the outskirts of towns... Leading them further in would still spell disaster, however, as while you may have some humans be tolerated, they never truly where willing to stand by when there was masses. Especially as Storm Season seemed to come around again.

Visiting the places where they saw Humans for the first time, Naury truly got to see how bad things actually where... Some strewn about enclaves where holding of the cultists using walls seemingly growing directly from the ground, but the 'Empire' truly is the dominant force on this continent. Eating each other, one would think they would just shrivel up and die, but they have somehow learned to sustain themself of the very souls the have been gifted with. A small horror for Naury, being that can only have been the work of another divine for some reason aiding this slaughter. Maybe they even initiated it to begin with.

Whiping of the blood from the leaf-suit they wore, as a stray cultist made the unfortunate discovery that size is far from all there is, the god moved on to the north. A different continent, according to the locals it was named Eresalay, was surprisngly not just a inversion of its neighbor. While one could mistake them for it on a glance, the locals where not human. Instead, they where closely connected to the Kami, and therefore the lands themself. The Onna where seemingly craftspeople at heart however, as the Sisterhood perfected many things that elsewhere where more crude. Nauries form had some of the most beautiful coats they had the honour to wear during their visit indeed. Apparently, unlike their human counterpart further south, this ones are united under the moon as protectors, and while most did not realise that Naury was no local, the ones that did worked hard to spread that knowledge. However, this are at their core peaceful people, that much was clear to see.

So the stranger in the beautiful mantle told them of the People of the Chain. A land in the West, where people not like the humans they may meet already live. A fellow, more peaceful folk. It would be up to the Onna to decide if they tried to contact them...

Thousands of shards littered the ground below. The group, once a docen people, has shrunk considerably during their climb. Two of the Humans gave up early, their traveling beasts not fit for the terrain, they refused to leave them behind, no matter what rewards may be at the fingertips of the northern hand.

One of the Gelatons that attempted the climb with the others has frozen to death, not long after their body failed to hold on and came down the hang, exploding into fragments as it hit the stone below.

Another few tried to fight a Giant, quickly finding that despite their simple nature, the home turf made all the difference. It was just bribery, and parting of a some of their supplies, that allowed them to pass the hulking behemoth peacefully.

Yet, the tip was still far away. It was the stories of Temptations that drove the group so far, now mostly human dominated with just one Gelaton still alive and with them, as the half docen companions huddled around a fire. Temptations live where it is the least life can survive, and in this most inhospital of places, the stringest Temptations wielding the biggest powers are sure to be found... Or at least, thats how the stories go...

At the next day, the climb continued as planed. It got colder and colder the further up they came, and at some point even the giants seem to give up going up, not finding enough food anymore to make it worth their energy. A explosion rocked the finger as one of the humans tried to keep themself warm using arcane magic, but unexperienced in the art they released to much energy at once in this already charged place, their body falling in pieces down the walls.

Now a mere Five, Two more got lost as one of the storms passed. They deliberatly climbed during the northern storm season, the logic was sound: The worse it is, the greater the reward. The others do not know what exactly happened to them. They simply where no longer there one evening.

The three continued on, until they reached a bit that seemed to go straight up, seemingly with no end. A temptation came to them in this most dire of steps, and offered them their aid. Riches or Control over the Climate, the ability to Fly or to withstand the dangers of the Ocean preshing below... While each tale is different what the Temptation truly gave, the price was the same: Simply let lose the grip, and let oneself fall down to the bottom again. One of the travlers took the offer, however it had been, and was never seen from again.

The final two could now see the peak. The Gelaton barley able to move anymore had to be carried by the human during this last instance, as the Human refused to lose another of their friends in this foolish errand, yet also wanted this all to not have been for nothing either, going higher yet higher. They did not even know whoes idea this was, as some of the greatest, but also the worst of ideas came under the infulence of the bats.

Finally at the top, there was no Temptation to greet them. No reward to be found. The Two last Travelers of the Group, barley holding on to life, only found a entrance. A light. At the tip of the middle finger of the northern hand, the largest of the fingers, was a cave, and a light came from the cave... They entered the cave, and unknowingly, left their world behind...

Adanat was home to some amphibious species, as Naury quickly came to find. Lolats seem to enjoy to wander about the continent they inhabit, but the oceans are nearly as dangerous to them as they are to the gods own accidental creation. The robes the stranger wore could not hide the fact that they are not a frog creature of course, and even the mask was mostly a stylised interpretation of their rather large faces in proportion to their bodies. Yes, the weird person between them was immediatly recognised as something unknown, and something to learn more about.

However, the time Naury had with the Lolats was short. Their lives where filled with little surprises, but they also where overall simple people, enjoying the odd worm delicacy here and struggling with their travels there, movement is what painted their days, collecting things and sharing between each other as needed. Most of their stories where, interestingly enough, of temptations as well as they where mostly isolated from the rest of the world. The unusual Stranger told them of the world beyond, of the People of Mountains, of Sun, of Moon. Their travel to the Chain, should they attempt it, would be the longest... Same for the travels to any other place, truly, should they try and find their way to the murderous empire or protective Sisterhood.

"Temptations in Human Form, I tell you!" The old farmer had enough of it, as his son-in-law once again suggested to head to the outpost a group has recently put up outside of the valley, back in the town and its habour. "They sold themself to the Sea-Folk. Who knows what twisted them to work together instead of being dragged down, but you can not trust anyone that goes out there and comes back unchanged!" Of course, the Son-In-Law tries to bring up the Fishers, who risk their life on the waves on the regular, but that gets quickly shot down. "First, they offer you their foreign treats, then their goods from deep below... And then, they offer you a fast success to the arcane?" The farmer shakes his head. It took many years to even learn the basics to have the few undead workers he could keep 'alive'. They tirelessly work to keep the slimes from the fields, without spooking the Auroch and having them go trample it all down. "And just like the Temptations, you won't know what you lose until they have taken it from you. Believe me on that you fool! Do not let yourself in with the Merchant's Guild." Of course, their relationship was always strained... And so the well meaning words of a grumpy old man fell on deaf ears, as another soul coin would flow into the Treasury soon after...

Many species now live among the first world, Many of them Naury meet during the travels... Many they did not. Yet they do not need to meet them all as they adjust the rules a bit, using the souls of the humans as a basis and extending a variation of the gift to any race that becomes intelligent enough to require it. Soon, the plane of echos will be filled with pictures just a bit clearer, more detailed.

And yet, there is plenty of places that still need visiting. But for now, it was time to return to the chain with the stories collected. And possibly plan for it was obvious that the other gods are working hard on the first world... And meeting some of them could provide the most interesting stories for sure.

Spoiler: Naury AP Spending

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4 AP ROUNDSTART

1 AP - Create Advanced Concept (shared with Slintoch) [Society (Stories) 6/10]

Beast Taming
It is Human Nature to try and do the impossible, a nature Naury added to before. And sometimes, things turn out to be possible afterall. While the inspirations did not quite turn out to be true, the general message stands: Even the greater beasts can be tamed, if one just invests the time, patience, and plenty of good food to bribe them into a mutally beneficial situation.

1 AP - Blessing/Curse [Life (Vitality) 6/10]

Souls of the Sapient
It was a bit of a surprise to Naury how many variations of People came to be, and how fast it was the case. So they had to spend yet a bit more of their own energy to capture their experiences in a way that gave them the credit they deserve... So any Sapient race would be blessed with Souls very simelar to the ones of humans, with improved willpower first and foremost.

________
2 AP Left

Progress:
[Society (Stories) 6/10]
[Life (Vitality) 6/10]
[Ooze (Gelatons) 6/10]

**MutantDragon** · 2023-09-10, 12:16 AM (ISO 8601)

An Empire Grows

Harkit and his taming of the firedrakes changed things in the Empire of the Sun. Now that they had mighty beasts capable of leveling small villages and quickly traversing large distances, their expansion accelerated by a terrifying amount. More and more of Yalasere was brought under the Empire's control, including some islands on the Northern coast. If they remained unopposed, they might gain control over most of the continent within a matter of years. This was exacerbated by the meddling of one of Slintoch's siblings; ironically, the creation in question was meant to protect against aggressors like the Empire of the Sun. The Genius Loci that began appearing within the empire seemed to be fueled by their fanaticism and dedication to the ideals of the empire; in turn, these spirits granted and amplified power for the cultist armies. Further, the control over nature these spirits allowed proved to have many uses, including controlling local populations and successfully conquering them. What's more, the cultists' minds, though acclimation and madness, have totally shaken off the influence of the Song of the Deep, allowing them to exist unhindered by the ocean.

Spoiler: OOC

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Rollover!
0AP + 4AP = 4AP

Counteract (Ward of the Fanatic - Counters Call of the Deep) - 2AP: The Minds of Cultists of the Burning Sun have become so warped that they are immune to the Song of the Deep. [Evil (Malice) 10/10] New Domain/Portfolio Unlocked!

4AP - 2AP = 2AP

**Mechalich** · 2023-09-15, 04:07 AM (ISO 8601)

Sharp Things

Akane made her way up the slope carefully, mindful of her footing as the path was steep and the rocks were hard-edged. They might even be called jagged, for this was a place of hard angles and sudden shifts. It offered up a most unforgiving landscape.

Dry, and completely absent any plant cover, the boulder-strewn wastes of the flows were mercilessly hot and baked beneath the sun. Nothing existed to offer any respite from the rays above. The hot orb blasted this land unimpeded.

Though she was tempted, she forced her hand away from the waterskin at her waist. The other sisters had made it clear that all must be rationed now. Even though water pooled in sheltered crevices at the bottom of the myriad ravines here, it was not safe to drink. There would be no more until they descended to the shelter of the low valleys where thick blankets of moss on the walls served to filter out the poisons.

For now the sisters could only hike carefully and hope their destination lay close. Akane held position in the middle of the march, ostensibly because her greater height compared to her Take Onna sisters was suited to that position, but all knew it was meant to shelter her weaker climbing skills. Her gaze swiveled constantly, searching from just under her feet all the way to the horizon as she sought to trace the signs that had brought her, and all the others, here. A long journey, and a hard one. Breaching the ever-shaking groves of the mountains had been one task, braving this blasted land where great conical peaks spewed fiery stones into the sky like angry puffballs was entirely too much.

A month earlier she would not have believed such a thing was even possible. Now she strode firmly across the blasted landscape such eruptions left behind. A terrible outpouring, truly. The Kami felt weak here, distant and submerged. The endless pulse of nature that normally thrummed beneath the lightest touch of her fingertip was almost entirely gone. Even birds and flying insects could barely be seen above this blighted place. Why should they be? Little food could be found anywhere, save the scattered detritus cast up onto the slopes by howling winds.

Despite the absence of life, danger abounded. Ankle-twisting stones, loose boulders, and choking gases were all present. Worse than that were the strange stone hunters that haunted the waste. There were not truly alive, at least, not as her senses reported, but the motile stone nevertheless hungered for flesh and blood. To her eyes they appeared little different from any other boulder, perhaps a bit redder, no more, until they sensed the proximity of prey. Then they exploded into snap-motion like a giant flytrap to entomb anything that did not dodge aside with great swiftness.

Each of the Take Onna carried a heavy pick, formed of the hardest stone they knew, to break and shatter these monsters. Several of the sisters who knew the wastes well ranged in front at the head of the column. A rock wight, when spotted, was marked by hurling a pack of dye and then surrounded and smashed to bits by collective effort. The creatures were anathema to the land, and though Akane had little experience of such violence, she knew it was right to destroy the things. Even she, unfamiliar with the mountains, felt the gratitude flowing from the Kami at their removal.

Not without cost, those victories. Ebisu and Nagisa, honored Take Onna sisters both, had fallen beneath constricting arms of stone, and several others sported injury. The deaths laid heavy upon Akane's shoulders. She had led the sisters here to the wastes, her words and vision, her truth, that they followed. A mission that, even now, she believed worth not only the risk of her own life, but that of the dozen other sisters.

She could not give name to her, but she knew, they all knew, that a hidden benefactor watched over the Onna. The Spider Behind the Moon some called her, and at least part of that must be true. Spiders guided the sisters, taught them many things, revealed the secrets of the world under the touch of the Kami. All knew this. Were not the clothes they wore made in imitation of the silken cocoons in which spiderlings were wrapped for protection?

And it was a trail of spiders, lifted far into the air and riding the high winds on narrow strands of silk, that had pulled Akane so far already. Out of the great forests, along the rivers up to their mountain sources, and now into the depths of blasted, fire-carved wastes. She saw them still, parachuting about on singular lines, a path revealed one swift glimpse at a time.

It must be close now, she was certain. The corrections had grown few in number, and unless they were to brave the towering cone of the volcano itself – an action Akane could not believe possessed the least purpose – what she was meant to find must lie among the stones belched free and laid down by the great eruptions. If only she could understand what treasure could possibly be hidden in such emptiness.

The march ground on, untilsunset came and the lead sister called a halt for the evening. They stood on the edge of a great ravine, a cleft in the earth formed not by water but some great clash of pyroclastic discharge. Gray at the top, an inky black lost to the shadows further down. Should it need to be crossed the sheer sides would prove a great trial.

As the simple assembly of camp took shape, Akane kept up her vigil. There must be a sign, a signal. Surely only the last step remained. If she but watched, and followed, it would be revealed. Faith demanded, and knew.

When the first light of the rising moon passed over the edge of the canyon she watched a single spider dive down from high above. Plunged on wings of silver webbing into the light-less depths below.

Without hesitation, without waiting, the Mori Onna followed.

The descent, made in haste through ever-deepening shadows, did not pass easily. Over and over she fell, or stumbled, or slid, until every part of her body was scraped raw and blood oozed from countless lacerations. When sandal-clad feet met the bottom with a soft crash these too surrendered, for the ground was coated in sharpness beyond anything Akane knew. Thick hempen fibers reinforced with reed straps disintegrated at the touch of that strange shard-form carpeting. Only by swiftly hopping onto a nearby boulder did she avoid the loss of several toes.

“What is this? Is the ground made of teeth?” Even the best knapped stone blades had nothing like such cutting efficiency.

“Akane!” From high above a cry of fear descended alongside a thrown burning brand. One of the precious few torches carried this far. “Sister, do you live?”

“Yes! I am fine!” She barely managed the response, for what lay revealed in the flickering orange light stole the breath away from her lungs.

The bottom of the ravine, and indeed the entirety of the lower walls, was comprised entirely of dark, glinting, black, glass. It was as if the innards of a potter's kiln the size of a mountain had burst there. Countless shards, gleaming with edges sharp as night, lay upon the floor. Ready made knives, spearheads, and axes many times finer than the best master tool-makers could produce from flint or chert.

A wonder, and, Akane realized as she caught a glimpse of a spiderweb strung along that peerlessly sharp rock face, a gift. Their hidden patron reached out to aid her daughters once more.

“What is this substance?” she whispered. “Glass born of mountain fire.”

“It is called obsidian,” a voice formed of shaking dust and scattering ash whispered from behind her ear. “A petty form of glass,” a body coalesced out of airborne detritus then. Onna-like, but ashen and wan, bearing the countenance of a body pulled free after many days embedded in a bog. For all that and the eerie scent of decay she carried, she was achingly, heartrendingly beautiful. “Pretty enough, if polished, but of little use otherwise. See how brittle it is?” The flick of a perfectly shaped gray hand launched a shard to strike the boulder upon which Akane rested.

The impact shattered it into countless tiny fragments.

“A bauble,” the gray-skinned formed slid easily across the bottom of the ravine. The touch of the obsidian edges made no impression upon her malleable, blurred, boundaries. “That is what you have been given.” The perfectly framed face shook, mossy tendrils redolent with the scent of ages shook down her back. “A pittance, far less than that which your people, with such skilled hands and minds, deserve. If you like,” she slurred, the words coming slowly, serpentine. “I can improve upon this gift. Make a pact with you for something much, much better. Only a small price, nothing onerous.”

Exquisite fingers reached down, wrapped around a piece of obsidian perfectly shaped to serve as a belt knife. As it rose from the floor a strange, frosty light swept around it. At this touch it changed. Ice boiled away beneath a sudden flash of terrible heat to reveal a remarkable thing in its place. Solid, silver-shaded, and reflective in composition, it possessed straight lines and had edges.

Akane had never seen anything like this new creation. Perhaps a fish scale, given the form of a knife, might look vaguely similar, but she knew this was nothing so simple. “What is it?” she murmured despite trembling with fear and reached out to touch the blade.

“It is called steel.”

It felt cool to the touch, but more than that, it was strange, alien. Powerful, certainly, she could see the sharpness of the edges, feel the tempered strength embedded in the strange form. Harder than stone, and flexible beyond that, a devastating material capable of infinite creation.

But it was born of death.

Mori Onna, Akane bore a fragment of Kami essence at her core, and this part of her rebelled entirely at the touch of this blade. She felt the furious and brutal process needed to wrench it free of the earth, the trees that must be sacrificed for its shaping, and recoiled.

“A pact, you say?” her eyes narrowed at the lovely, ashen vision. “If you wish me to wield such a terror it seems you are the one who should pay the price to me, and a severe one indeed.”

The beautiful expression twisted into one of pure, unadulterated spite. Rage shook the composite form. “You dare reject my generosity? That will cost y-”

Mid-word a strand of spider silk, long as the cosmos and sharp as a mother's love, split the mixture of ash and dust in twain.

Akane stood frozen as the twisted thing, far from undone, slithered away, a layer of clinging clutter bound to earth. When she looked back, the steel blade was gone.

Reaching down, carefully to avoid the shards, she grasped an obsidian knife in a firm grip and felt the vibrant heat of its link to the Kami of the fiery mountains under her nails. Then she looked up to the crescent moon and smiled. “Thank you.”

It seemed she'd chosen as a daughter ought.

Carefully tucking the knife into her waistband, she grabbed the smoldering torch and began the long, painful climb back to the top.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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Create Mundane Concept (1AP): Obsidian - the Onna have learned to extract, knap, and grind obsidian deposits from Eresalay's volcanic region, forming exceedingly sharp blades and points for a variety of purposes. [Community (Sisterhood) 6/10]

Starting AP: 4 Spent: 1 Remaining: 3

**Athedia** · 2023-09-15, 11:53 PM (ISO 8601)

The Endless Pain

Glikmora wandered the world more, her gaze landing on the large continent to the east of the chain. There was a strange people the ones the humans on the chain feared. She disguised herself as one of them for a time, gloves and cloaks hiding who she was. A strange mania drove them to consume each other, not waiting for death to return their flesh to the world. A stranger to one such group, she was chosen to be the next meal. And for once she offered a warning.

"You will not like the consequences. But that is your choice."

And indeed they did not. For as they cut off her arm there grew a new one, and as they bit into the severed arm, it grew into them. Mold spread through their mouths, their muscle, their skin consuming them. As mold covered eyes now watched her Glikmora shed her cloak. "You made a poor gamble, but a brave one. Your hunger shall remain, but never be saited. And any who attempt to saitiate themselves on you will share in your curse. Wander now and rot, a slow death unless mercy is taken on you."

And Glikmora set them lose watching as some immediately fell on each other, others on the livestock and other members of the town. And so she left the large land.

The Painless End

Glikmora wandered north, this land covered in plants much like her home. But these trees grew strong on firm soil, lacking the perpetual damp of her lands. And the people were of the trees. Glikmora delighted in the strange skin, a paler green than the colors that made up her own. Much of this land smelled of home, the rich loam scent bringing a smile to her face. She found others, ones with white skin that matched the patches growing now on her legs. Ones with blue skin that also preferred the watery parts of the land much like her own Lolats. Ones with golden skin that were like nothing she had seen.

While following the golden beings she witnessed the mountains fall, crushing the leg of one and near killing another. Their kin ran to them attempting to bind the wounds but the injured creatures cried in pain begging for it to stop. And Glikmora couldn't bear to hear the cries. She picked up a plant, one known to numb the lips if eaten and blessed it. "One leaf to the one with the leg, three to the dying one. Chew." And so the creatures, the Onna, ate the leaves. They both slipped into the dreamless sleep and later one awoke. But Glikmora was already gone, having decided to finally head home.

Spoiler: AP Actions

Show

3 left over + 4 = 8 AP

Create Monsters (1 AP): Mold Men: Once sentient creatures who attempted to consume Glikmora when she was in disguise among them. Having attempted to eat her flesh it instead ate them. Glikmora would not let it kill them, instead letting them live with a hunger that can never be satiated. Normal causes of death will not effect them and they are unable to starve. However they still decompose slowly and can be killed with enough damage. [Magic (Necromancy) 3/10]

Bless/Curse (1 AP): The Spreading Hunger: Glikmora also cursed the Mold Men that any who did to them what they attempted to do to her (consume their flesh) would suffer the same effects. [Magic (Necromancy) 4/10]

Bless/Curse (1 AP): Sleep Leaf: Glikmora enchanted a common mountain plant to enhance the toxins inside it to numb the body and mind. Consuming to much will kill a mortal, however the correct amount will allow them to simply sleep painlessly. [Medicine (Toxins) 2/10]

Tally:
Water (Wetlands) 2/10
Weather (Rain) 2/10
Amphibians (Bipeds) 4/10
Medicine (Toxins) 2/10
Truth (Deals) 2/10
Magic (Necromancy) 4/10

8 AP - 3 AP = 5 AP

**KatsOfLoathing** · 2023-09-16, 04:51 AM (ISO 8601)

Depthless, Deathless II

Somewhere sometime, another wave crashed against the shore, and the First World continued to spin.

Simple souls lived and died, danced and fought and ate each other and ate themselves, after a fashion. The sea sang its beckoning call, and some listened while others remained afraid. Some of the simple souls, the sun-cultists and man-eaters, had had their ears stoppered by a vengeful and coal-boned thing that roared its hate from deep in the stars. If the god of the deep was aware of this, if it heard anything from its hiding place far below the waves, it made no response. Instead, it roiled in its sleep, and continued to dream.

Before now, the simple souls of the First World had not dreamed. When they laid down their heads to sleep — or curled up in their caves, or hung from ceilings, or slopped into loose pools of ooze — they saw nothing and remembered nothing when they awoke but an endless yawning darkness. But one day something stirred far in the crags of the hollow earth, and that deathfull stillness of sleep was no more, for the darkness began to speak.

It was hard to say what those simple souls heard and saw now when they dreamed. If the god of the deep had possessed more presence of mind in its own restless slumber, perhaps it would have kept this gift of walking amongst the sleepers of the First World to itself, but such was not so. And so the worm-men in their caves dreamed of a king in the mountain, of the mountain, one earthen finger beckoning. The humans under their burning sun and the spirit-women hiding in the mountains dreamed of creeping insects and bonding, binding vines. The ooze-creatures, when they slept, remembered the past, always burning with charcoal and ozone. And the sea-folk… they dreamed of the farthest sea, of swimming ever deeper and darker until the blackness swallowed you and became you and everything made sense once more.

Explaining the concept of exploring to the sea-folk was challenging. They did not need boats to travel the oceans of the First World, for the blessings of the Deep had given them everything they needed to survive and hunt below the waves. They did not need to build homes and fortifications to protect themselves, as did the air-breathers that they encountered on the shores and sometimes traded with and sometimes drowned. The leviathans and other large sea creatures were their guardians, not their predators, and all smaller and weaker was prey to be hunted. They moved in packs across the seafloor, wielding spears of whalebone and seaweed nets to gather up the smaller schools of fish. They did not need to explore for nothing that was needed to survive was ever denied to them, here below the world.

There was one amongst them who did not think this way, his name long forgotten after he took another one new and terrible. The bottomless caverns and fissures of the sea-floor fascinated him, driving him endlessly to explore and seek out what was hidden within. His family warned him from these wandering, for though the sea-folk sometimes lived and rested in the upper sections of these crags and sometimes hid in them when storms raged and the ocean became tumultuous, going further was dangerous, for in the lowest parts of these caves the light failed to penetrate and the darkness reigned to such a degree that even their enhanced senses would leave them fumbling. The curious sea-folk boy listened to these instructions, and obeyed them for a time. Then he began to dream.

Find me.

Only two words, but they clawed deep into his mind with a savage immediacy. When he awoke he swiftly brought this to his family-pod, telling them that he had been spoken to in the night by one of the Creators, the thing in the dark they had all heard when they entered the waves and were reborn anew. He knew where he had to go, instinctively: into the bones of the hollow earth, the deepest places where none had dared to venture before. The others warned him again, for what he spoke of was dangerous and danger was almost a foreign sensation to the sea-folk, protected in the ocean as they were. And of course, danger was an intoxicating sensation to a curious boy who had never known it before. And of course, as his family busied themselves gathering crabs and hunting after schools of manta rays along a shallow island, he went anyway.

The sea-folk did not carry many belongings and so he packed lightly — a woven rope of seaweed, some gathered and preserved strips of fish-leather for rations, and his precious knife, carved from a leviathan’s tooth and sheathed to his hip. And so the boy swam downwards, heading towards and into the largest sea-crag he could find.

At first he moved with some caution, using the length of seaweed as a guiding tool and a way to find his way back if he became lost, slowly unwinding behind him. Soon, however, it became clear that there was no clear correct path forward, for beyond the earliest recesses the crag plunged endlessly in every downward direction, forming a fractal of darkened tunnels that all seemed enticing and yet chilled the boy to the bone when he looked too deeply into their yawning portals. Making a decision that he would perhaps regret never or perhaps regret forever, the boy left what remained of the rope behind and plunged onwards.

There were too many paths to choose from, so he did not choose. Instead he simply fumbled forwards, into the darker and deeper and closer. The cold did not affect the sea-folk like it did the air-breathers and yet he felt a numbing chill settle into his bones, and still he descended. Hunger gnawed at his gut and his supplies dwindled, and still he descended. The cracks became thinner, the darkness even more all-consuming, so tight that even his precious knife was left behind as he scraped and scratched forwards, and still he descended. The earth crushed so much that he knew that turning around would be death but perhaps moving forward would mean the same, and still he descended…

And then the earth widened like a yawn and he tumbled downwards into open water, and the curious boy knew he had found what he was looking for. There was no light down here, absolutely nothing to guide him but his ears and his hands, but he could feel it. In this lightless, sightless space far below where even the other old ones could touch, he had discovered the god of the deep. And it slept. It heaved rumbling, sonorous breaths that vibrated the water around him. It shifted restlessly, and he felt a tail or a claw or something else shift in the darkness. It did nothing more.

Was this all there was? This creature had enticed the sea-folk boy to find it, to leave behind his family and his life and everything he had known to come and find it — for what? A dream? A sleeping god? What had he come down here for? What, then, was the point of any of this? The curious boy felt his mind frothing into a rage. He swung his fists with furious impotence. He shouted at the god before him to do something, anything.

His voice was just one strangled sound echoing against the mind of a shard of divinity. And yet, for just a moment, it pierced something within the dreaming blackness of the god of the deep. It did not awaken it fully. Perhaps if it had, the god would have presented in all its true splendor and terror and rent the boy’s mind from his body and obliterated him in every way it could matter. Perhaps that would have been more merciful. Instead, just a fraction of the god awoke — a single lazuli eye opening like a full moon breaking through clouds — and took in the curious boy as fear suddenly gripped his heart for the first time, and spoke a single syllable

Hm?

and in doing so enveloped the boy in that lightless, sightless space and showed him everything that he did not know and should not know and could not know.

In time, the curious boy’s family forgot him. The ocean was as uncaring as it was vast, and sometimes those you loved could drift away. The boy, or rather the thing he had become, did not forget about them. When he rose from the depths, terrible in visage and mutated far beyond even what the ocean’s song was capable of, he found them first. And then he found others, more flocks of sea-folk scattered across the oceans and seas of the first world.

The myth of the curious boy who would become the king of the sea-folk was a simple one. He had dreamed and sought after that dream, and it had made him a monster. But some monsters did not lose their minds. Some became witches, others became kings. And as the night-witch sliced and sluiced across the shadows of the First World, her brother was born in its depths, crafted by the passing thoughts of a sleeping god into a ruler great and horrible. They knew of each other, and they would keep watch for more.

Spoiler: AP Accounting

Show

Rollover: 6 AP starting + 4 AP rollover = 10 AP

Create Blessing — Dreams of the Lords (1 AP): Mortal creatures, once unpossessed of dreams, now recall glimpses of their creator gods and those who have influenced them while asleep, and can be communicated with and guided by the gods to a limited degree through their dreams. (Space [Boundaries] 1/10)

Create Avatar — The Fathomking (3 AP): Once a simple sea-folk child, twisted and changed by a direct encounter with Fahveth into an ageless demigod of the ocean. Fiercely loyal to his kind and disdainful of surface-dwellers, his aim is to unite his people into an empire capable of rivaling any that could threaten them. (Madness [Monsters] 10/10)

Final Tally
6 AP Remaining
Travel (Worlds) 3/10
Space (Boundaries) 1/10
Madness (Monsters) 10/10 — Claim New Domain

**AlexanderML** · 2023-09-16, 05:38 AM (ISO 8601)

A Lonely Field In The Empire

Weak. That’s what a little girl was. Expected but something that the girl hated more than anything, since that was all those around her cared about. Even her parents, only a bit less weak than she was, fawned over those strong hate filled eyes with what she deemed fanatical devotion.

She hated it. She hated cruelty. She just wanted people to… to do something else she could not describe.

But she was weak.

One girl cannot change anything, fight back against anyone, or convince them to change. She felt so alone. No one else around her felt the same. Her pa had beat her when she didn’t want to see some bad man get hurt.

A lot of the time she thought she was insane, though she lacked the ability to comprehend such a word.

But one day, she found a circle of flowers hidden away somewhere and met another girl.

She had eyes that… eyes that… held something the girl had never seen before. She was nice, and smart, and always let her cry.

The girl would take another kid with her into the woods, and soon they played together amid the flowers with that flower girl.

Lilia.

A girl that held a skull with overflowing flowers in one hand and a crown of them upon her head. Both made by the children playing in the woods. Yet somehow, such simple gifts made their friend cry.

There was nothing wrong with that, which is what stunned the children the most.

Yet among the children the only one who cry with Lilia was the girl who in that moment felt just like Lilia.

“I love you.” Lilia said, an innocent warmth there for the girl. “I love everyone, but you… do you love me?”

“Yes!” all the children said, though Lilia was just looking at the girl with a smile.

“----” Lilia gave a big smile before plucking a flower from the skull then giving it to the girl. “To know my love is to know my strength. Please… keep this place safe, for when I return.”

Stunned again, the children didn’t want to lose their new friend. Lilia took a flower from her crown and placed it upon the girl’s head.

Then Lilia walked away from the field of flowers.

Spoiler: AP Action

Show

AP: 14/16

-3 Create Minor Utility Artifact (Bless) - Lilia’s Bouquet: A skull of someone betrayed and devoured by children filled with an assortment of flowers that appears to change with every appearance of Lilia. Currently she is the one holding onto it, but anyone in the cult of the maiden may use the power of the magical flowers that the bouquet contains. On rare occasions Lilia or another may plant a flower to let it spread across the world. Darkness (Espionage)6/10

AP: 11/16

**bladescape** · 2023-09-16, 06:38 AM (ISO 8601)

Compassion, for not all is darkness

There was once a Pale one, born amongst the humans of the empire of the sun. Hidden from the light of their hungry god. Her name was Tabitha. Born to simple gatherers. To some, the very sight of the bloodless skin and the pale hair was a sign of heretical belief, to others it was a curse, but to her parents she was but a blessing. In the early stages of her youth she was cared for and taught all that her parents could.

She found in herself love, affection. Blooming warmth in reciprocation to her birthgivers for their gifts. She was unusual amongst the pale ones for having such an attachment, and if others like her could see her they would perhaps have found her as alien as other humans, though in a different manner. It was not long until she discovered that not all treated her as well as her parents. 'Heartless' was perhaps the nicest of the insults, the attacks upon her. Though the fanatics weren't called to their door, she suffered grievously from the xenophobia of her people.

Her people.

Such a moniker perhaps would have made her laugh, if only she found room to find it amusing. Instead it was fear, fear that clouded her mind. Fear that clouded her body. Fear that none like her should feel. It was not her fear, not really. But she was the first. The foremost. The beginning of the change. She had no idea where the fear came from, and so called it her own.

At some point, though if you asked Tabitha she could not tell you when, she began to hear a voice, feel a presence. Not a person, but something else. A spirit that told her she had a purpose. Though days passed, it would always tell her this, always remind her, and so she waited.

And waited.

Decades passed, until Tabitha was more than an adult, unpaired despite her age. Her parents would not last much longer, for they had begun to wither, as they were like to do in the natural course. The summer then was no different from many before it, the village blooming with colour.

The herald sent by the cult that ruled the empire was young, full of life. Not someone she saw, of course, as he was like as to hunt her down if he did see her. But on that day when she heard the cry of someone in pain, she did not think where the herald was, merely ran to help. As many in the village did. The man had a tree branch through his chest, a fallen piece of woodland leaving the herald dead. Or soon to be.

She could have left him and never would have been discovered.

But the voice inside her told her that this was where she was meant to be. Isthera. She knew who spoke to her. She let the other guide her as she removed the wood from the cultist and reached out, spending all emotions that had built up over the years. All the love for her family. All the fear of the villagers. All the terror of the cult. Emotions good and bad wrapped like bandages over the wound.

He was healed.

She ran.

Following the voice in her mind she eventually found the coast, and in the distance she saw the Estheric Islands, or one of them, floating near Yalasere's shore. She swam. She survived the ice of the water, the call of the ocean, the beasts that swam beneath the waves. Only one followed her. The Herald she had healed.

He sought to redeem her, though such a thing would be unheard of.

She...

Instead she knew that Isthera had another plan for her. And talking to him with a smile, she pulled his own dagger from his belt, and pressed the handle into his hands. Then, reaching forwards, she pulled his arm forward, to thrust that self-same blade into her own heart. She died in his hands, by his hands, but not really.

Two things happened in that moment. The first was her blood drifting away like snowflakes instead of dropping to the ground, each point that Tabitha's flakes of blood landed on left a trail of greenery unheard of in the Estheric Isles. It was... or would be... somewhat livable. None would understand truly how, as the land was still ice, but Isthera glanced forwards and on ice did life grow.

The other?

Vandrek returned to the Empire with a skill he had never expected. The ability to sacrifice feelings for power, though to tole on him was much greater than the one who had saved his life. Isthera's touch. Like Tabitha, in a way he was the first.

Spoiler: Actions

Show

AP: 10 + 4(Rollover) = 14

Bless(The Pale Ones): - Emotional Palace (1 AP)
Pale Ones can retain a 'bank' of emotions built up over time. These emotions come from others around them, and are reflections of the stronger emotions they have experienced. This can be used either to seem more 'normal' emotionally, or as a source of power.
(Emotion(Obsession) 4/10)

Create Mythic Concept: Channel Healing (4 AP)
By sacrificing emotions, one may learn to use those feelings to bind wounds or cure maladies. This is entirely used as a power to heal others, but the cost for those who have learnt how to harness it is high. For Pale Ones it drains their Emotional Palace, but for non-Pale Ones, it saps their ability to feel. While such things will recover (over time), the more it is utilised the more that it eats away at the person's ability to actually feel things, until they can no longer use the power anymore as they have drained the river of their own emotions dry.
(Emotion(Obsession) 8/10)

Alter Land: Estheric Islands (1 AP)
The Estheric Islands now have the ability to support plantlife. No one is sure exactly how it works, other than that the legends say the locations are the places where Tabitha's blood touched.
(Plants(Aberrant) 1/10)

AP: 14 - 6 = 8

Progress:
(Season(Winter) 7/10)
(Emotion(Obsession) 8/10)
(Plants(Aberrant) 1/10)

**Mechalich** · 2023-09-18, 05:47 AM (ISO 8601)

Ecie, The Chain

Her name was Kohaku, and she was ancient. Her knees were bent, her feet flattened, and her toes shattered by long decades of wandering. From the far north to the balmy south and all places in between had she traveled, the length and breadth of Eresalay. She had spent long nights in conversations with Kami, traded with Sea Folk in hidden coves, fled from forests immolated by dragon fire, traded barbs with Temptations beneath the blistering sun, and yet lived to tell her tales. In her dreams, she followed the guidance of the Spider Behind the Moon and never stopped moving.

Across the lengthy expanse of her life, blessed but lonely by the standards of the sisterhood, she had learned much and striven to teach more. Everywhere she traveled she carried with her, bound and sealed in protective coatings, strips of barkcloth inscribed with the record of all she had seen and contemplated, including that very method of study.

Now, knowing that her marathon had run its course, she had returned to the village of her birth, to a well-settled log cabin built in the days of her youth. There, as the dreams had directed, she sought to reunite with her great-grandchild though she knew not why.

She found the young Mori Onna, not seen with her eyes since she was a mewling babe, working in back behind the gardens. Miyu was no longer that infant of her memory, but a teenager and a budding beauty. Yet she stood covered in dirt and wood shavings, engrossed in her labors. The young sister scowled resolutely, hammer and chisel in hand, at a series of strange wooden boxes she'd assembled beyond the borders of the vegetable patch.

A swarm of black flecks surrounded her in the air, and the wind thrummed with a low, pulsating, buzz. Though years might have robbed Kohaku's eyes and ears of sensitivity, she knew that pattern well. Golden memories flushed across her tongue at the thought.

“What are you doing with a beehive child?” she hobbled her way through the garden with slow care, her unsteady footing hesitant in the face of treacherous squash growths. “If you wish to harvest the wax, I will show you a good treatment method.” The Yuki Onna had taught her this in the far north. They would use it, carefully melted and strained, to waterproof their moccasins against the touch of snow.

“No, great-grandmother,” Miyu shook her head. “I'm building the bees a house. To keep them safe through the fall, away from the hungry bats. If I can just convince them to stay, then we could harvest honey and wax all year.”

Kohaku closed her eyes in sudden thought. A wondrous idea, it inspired a spiral of possibilities stretching outward. The scrolls on her back recorded twenty-one different uses of honey and forty-six uses for beeswax, but there was never enough for any village. Wild hives were hard to find, and if they grew large were inevitably found and consumed by the voraciousness of the bat swarms. A secure supply, persistent, regular, would be of incalculable value. “Is it working?” she questioned, suddenly breathless at the industrious ingenuity of her descendant.

No doubt remained as to why the hidden spider had sent her to come back to her birthplace.

“Almost,” Miyu shook her head slowly, scalp needles shimmering in the fading light of the day. “But they keep leaving when the disk fills the bottom. I can't convince them to build stacks, no matter how I change the box shape.”

The elderly Onna stumbled forward, stared through blurry vision and the swarming bees – thankfully the gentle stingless variety and not the more aggressive bumblers – to examine the box. A broad circular comb of honey cells, surrounded by bulbous brood pots, filled the bottom layer. A glance revealed Miyu's diagnosis to be correct. There was only a single layer, none of the swirling stacking forms, so like the growth patterns of certain seashells, that ought to form as the hive grew in numbers.

She knew that pattern, had seen it many times after hacking apart invested trees and fallen logs in search of sustenance when food ran low in her wanderings. Though the precise formation varied, the bees always built up, filled the space available as their numbers rose. Carefully, she reached a hand in and worried her fingers about just above the edge of the honeycomb. “Sister,” she murmured as she felt warmth flood her bent digits. “It is too hot. Bees withstand heat better than we do, but not endlessly. Another layer will melt the one below.”

“Oh,” the youth's beautiful face twisted into a sour cast. “I can drill holes to let air pass through and create a cooling breeze within. I did that before, but then the bats crawled inside.” The expression on her face spoke a clear tale of the carnage that followed.

“A screen,” though the elderly Onna's body might be weak, her mind had not surrendered one measure to the march of years, and the subject had been in her thoughts much in recent days. “A screen the bats cannot chew through,” from within a pouch woven to the inside of her vest she extracted a small, grayish square, gauzy in pattern and fuzzy about the edges. A thing found among the oak-scattered lands of the south. “One made from silk.” Gnarled fingers wrapped around the fibrous patch, stronger than any hemp or linen despite its raw nature.

Green eyes widened. “No spider wove that block.” Miyu whispered.

“No,” Kohaku agreed. From her back she dislodged her heavy scrolls. Placing them on the ground she unrolled one among their number. It took considerable effort, for though her memory was equal to the task, her fingers struggled against the binding ribbons and tight knots holding all in place. In the end, she allowed her great-granddaughter to sit beside her and take up the task. It felt strangely right that this should happen.

“This,” she pointed a sharp nail when she found the image required, one scratched and painted in charcoal and oil years before. “That is the source.”

Not a spider, but a slender little insect, vaguely resembling a wingless earwig, it had shortened front legs, swollen with great lumps just above the tiny claws. “It is called a webspinner, for it weaves great sheets of silk using those swollen hands.” She unrolled the scroll further. “There are others that make silk too: crickets, moths, and wasps. I have seen them, hidden on leaves and in the earth. Each is different, and so too their silk. You must find a way to keep them,” she knew the truth of these words even as they came to her lips. “Like the bees, they will provide the sisterhood with tools it shall need.”

“Great-grandmother,” Miyu stared at the images and writings, ran her hand gently along the scroll. Her eyes were saucer wide. “All of this, these drawings, these records. Where did that come from? How can you have seen so much?”

“By observing carefully,” Kohaku pressed wrinkled hands atop smooth ones. “And by listening to others. The Shadow Behind the Moon teaches us through the nature of the world. We must teach each other in turn. Are we not all sisters?”

Miyu put one hand atop the woven barkcloth record. With the other she squeezed tightly. “It will take much effort.” Her eyes were filled with tears. “And more time than,” she paused, voice cracking, never seeming as young as she had in that moment. “Than...”

“Hush, I know.” Kohaku had no illusions as to this. She tapped the scroll slowly, one finger at a time. “But the chain of knowledge will, must, continue. Nothing can be allowed to impede that. I have lived long and seen much, but it is not one thousandth part of a thousandth of the wonders of the First World. There is more in existence than any one life can contain, but the sisterhood, together, can achieve such greatness, so long as we never break the chain. Promise me you will continue.”

“I promise. So long as the moon continues to return, we shall not forget.”

Late that winter, at the age of ninety-one, Kohaku passed. When spring came Miyu walked south, along rivers and over mountains, to find the webspinners in the undergrowth the of the oak savanna. She gathered a colony in a specially prepared basket, and fed them chewed oak leaves by hand while she carried them all the way home. Later that year, with silk screens over the ventilation holes, she completed her first manufactured beehive.

A year later the webspinner colony had grown enough for one of her sisters to spin out silk and weave a blanket. The resulting cloth was sufficiently sturdy it had to be cut from the loom using obsidian blades one fingertip-length at a time. No other stone could pierce it.

The scrolls Kohaku left behind were compiled, copied, and distributed across Eresalay. It was even traded to the Sea Folk by the Kishi Onna. Titled Observations on Eresalay, they became the foundational scholarly work of a heritage that continued season to season and sister to sister so long as the Onna remained.

Somewhere, perhaps in the shadow of the moon, Ecie smiled.

Spoiler: AP Actions

Show

Create Mundane Concept (1AP) – Apiculture: stingless bees of the genus Melipona have been semi-domesticated and are kept in hives to produce honey and beeswax and aid in pollination. [Animals (Transformation) 8/10]

Create Mundane Concept (1AP) – Natural History: generalized cross-disciplinary study of the natural world, primarily observational and lacking the refinement of the scientific method. [Community (Sisterhood) 7/10]

Create Mundane Concept (1AP) – Resins: the Onna have learned to utilize natural substances such as lacquer, oil, pitch, and wax to coat and proof objects for various purposes. [Community (Sisterhood) 8/10]

Create Advanced Concept (2AP) – Sericulture: the production of silk, initially derived from webspinners (Embioptera) but gradually including a wide range of silk-producing animals for a variety of complex uses. [Animals (Transformation) 10/10]

Domain Acquired: Animals (Transformation)

Note: the quite real but non-traditional sources of honey and silk being used here were chosen because Yalasere and Eresalay are analogous to the Americas and do not contain any biota from elsewhere unless some other god puts it there (such as the Aurochs). That means no western honey bees or silk moths.

Starting AP: 3 Rollover Gain: 4 Spent: 5 Remaining: 2

**Zelphas** · 2023-09-18, 02:22 PM (ISO 8601)

The Pitfalls of a Cautious Approach

Telas has made a mistake, which may be their least favorite sensation. The agony of realizing that an action was the wrong one is worse than the disappointment of noticing that a chance has slipped by due to inaction, which is part of the reason why they prefer not to act at all. Still, there is nothing to do now but to fix the mistake.

The Yloch's relationship with the Lolats is useful, but the fact that the worm-people hide deep within the earth means that nothing is actually happening between the two races, and the Yloch are too rigid to move beyond their hidden lands. Either someone needed to find them, or they needed to start makign actions that the surface-dwellers would notice... and only one of those choices will let Telas deny meddling with the creations of the others if it ever comes up in the future. They reach within the minds of their creations, using the highway of sleeping that one of the others put in place recently, and discover two possible methods to push the Yloch down that may meet their goals. Not wanting to make the same mistake again, they "encourage" both actions.

In a Cave on Adanat

The young Lolats were hungry, but that was only part of the reason they had traveled so deep into the cave, searching for the glow-worm eggs that are such a delicacy for their kind. Like many young people of sentient species, these four faced the world with more excitement than caution, and so they urged each other deeper into the caves, scooping up some small glow-worms to use as light sources as they went against their elder's cautions. The elders warned against going deeper into the caves for a host of practical reasons: the darkness, the sharp rocks, the dangerous falls and small gaps...

Another reason would be added to their list today.

The first boulder missed the leading Lolat by barely a hand's width. The young male stopped, surprised, squinting up at the ceiling to see where the boulder had come from. The next boulder snuffed him out before his eyes even focused on the empty rock ceiling above him. His friends scattered, dropping their glow-worm lights in their haste to flee; one of them, looking back, got a confused image of a massive snake seemingly made out of rocks, arching backwards like a snake in the darkness of the tunnel. She turned around and ducked to one side, not quite fast enough to avoid the boulder that the creature flung her way; it clipped her shoulder and snapped bones in her arm, but she was able to keep running with her two remaining companions.

Back in the glow-worm's light, *Preference for Smooth Stones* relaxed from his alert position and looked over the dropped infant Yloch, assuring himself that they were following their instincts towards Ratum. Satisfied, he began the slow process of pulling himself towards his rock-larder, to restock his wearing-stones; he had just begun to feel a bit hungry, so the timing was good.

In a Lolat Settlement, Farther Away

The re-telling of a Lolat's encounter with the Guardians had been distorted by time and distance, they decided among themselves from within their concealment. The Eaters did not know what the Guardians were, or connect them back to Ratum. They were not suspected.

They received strange looks for swathing themselves in thick leaves and trailing moss and algae, hiding their form entirely beneath it. They were mocked, occasionally, for refusing to take part in swimming contests, or for always eating alone. They were pitied, for a time, considered a mute because they dare not speak when they did not yet truly know the language. But they were not suspected.

Until they day when an unlucky rainstorm and a tree's grasping branches tore away their disguise, revealing them to a Lolat who had been traveling nearby. They did not wait to discover the Eater's response, but made a dash through the ground to Ratum, trusting that at least one of them would bring the news back to their homeland. Perhaps the single Lolat had not seen, had not suspected. Perhaps they had, and stories would now circulate of worms taking the crude shape of walking beings, hiding under wrappings to spy on the world above...

Spoiler: AP Actions

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0 + 4 = 4 AP

Create Subrace (1 AP) - Boulder Worms: Boulder Worms are a special form of Yloch that have been Lifeshaped so extensively that their ability to intermix with regular Yloch has vanished. Ranging in length as adults from 6 to 9 feet, these pale white worms possess rudimentary eyes (able to sense the presence/direction of light) and a circular mouth that is designed to chew through solid stone. Boulder Wyrms eat stones for sustenance, but also use them for defense and combat; by drilling a hole through a boulder, a Boulder Worm can "wear" the rock as armor, as well as use their flexible bodies to fling these boulders at threats or enemies. A female Boulder Worm lays its eggs inside a small hole eaten into a rock shelf, usually slightly deeper into caves than regular Yloch; these eggs are even tastier to Lolats than the average Yloch egg. Boulder Worms are the "Guardians" of Yloch Ratum, guarding the open passages deeper into the Caverns of Yl. As such, they are generally solitary creatures, only meeting with other Yloch or Boulder Worms to mate, check in on Ratum, and receive new assignments. [Life (Worms) 6/10]

Create Subrace (1 AP) - Wormwalkers: Wormwalkers are adult Yloch that have developed crude psionic powers, allowing them to link minds with other psionic Yloch and act in concert with them. 2-4 psionic Yloch can combine to create the rough form of a four-limbed humanoid about the size of a Lolat, covering themselves with moss, leaves, and cloth to hide the ruse. The same psionic powers that allow them to link also let these Yloch sense their environment and pick up language fairly quickly, though it still takes several days of immersion around those speaking that language for even rudimentary understanding to form. Wormwalkers are the above-ground spies of Yloch Ratum, watching and learning about "the Eaters" and reporting back to the whole Ratum with their findings. [Life (Worms) 7/10]

4 AP - 2 AP = 2 AP remaining

**AlexanderML** · 2023-09-19, 03:46 AM (ISO 8601)

A Bat In a Field of Flowers

Love me.

Flap, scuttle, watch the two-legs run about, mostly small ones with flowers on their heads.

Flap flap, the one among them in the center is the nicest one of all.

Scuttle, scuttle, the tall one lets them rest upon her shoulder. The tall one pets them. Happy shrill comes out as the little two legs stare at them.

“Can I pet it?” one of the littler two-legs asks. Hands look scary to them, want to grab and hurt; but… good two-leg gently takes hold of them and holds them out. This is fine, the good two-leg is there.

Squeals of joy come out from the small two-legs, they pet and pet them, scary but the good two-leg can be felt holding them.

Then it is picked up. Scary, hiss at them, hear a shout from a tall two leg “Don’t take it from her!”

Scary sound! Bite!

“-!”

Flap flap, get away from scary people!

Flap flap, the bat watches the field again looking for the nice two-leg.

Things are a lot quieter now. While there are even more two legs, no one is moving about. One of them is not moving at all upon the ground, skin looking sick and gray. Even it knew that the two-leg was now dead. It did not care but….

The nice two-leg was next to the dead two-leg, looking down at them making sounds that were sad as tears came down. “Sh-she loved me….” clenching her fists to her clothes, the nice two-leg cries silently for some time amid stunned onlookers before asking “Anybody… p-please, help her… I want to see her walk again.”

One of the taller two-legs comes closer and begins to do something weird with his hands and mouth, not understanding what was going on the bat stared at the good two-leg for a bit before hearing an unexpected noise.

The dead two-leg moved. Very scary. They jerked up like a puppet, and took such fake looking steps that even the bat thought that someone was hiding behind the dead two-leg moving it.

The good two-leg looked on with teary eyes so full of hope, her smile shaky and uncertain. She looked at the dead two-leg, who just moved around unnaturally, for many moments like that till she suddenly dropped to her knees crying.

“It’s not her! It d-doesn’t love me! Wha- wahh, ahhhh!” she screamed her frustration and grief into the ground amid the stunned two-legs.

The good two-leg was sad. Not understanding why, but wanting to comfort her, the bat flew down onto her shoulder making a noise a mother bat might comfort screeching young with.

Being so close, the bat was able to hear the words the good two-leg uttered next, even if it did not understand. “I’ll f-find you. You loved me, and it-it’d be terrible to not… to not…”

The bat was on the shoulders of the good two-leg. It didn’t want to leave her sad, and it liked being cared for by her as she moved. Yet it felt that its surroundings were… different. Instinctively it could understand that the place around it was not where it should normally be.

It looked like the same forest it knew, but it wasn’t. The bat clung to the good two-leg here as it examined the surroundings with unease.

Yet it did not take long, or at least it did not feel that way to the bat, for the pair to discover a field of flowers that was not becoming familiar to the bat; though it could tell it was not the same one….

There was a single two-leg here that stood out in the bat’s memory as the dead two-leg, but looking at them the bat was confused and scared. They looked less gray and were tending to the flowers in a alive two-leg way….

“A-arrienal!” the good two-leg said and with a few quick steps was right behind the kneeling down two-leg, who didn’t look up from their work. With teary eyes again the good two-leg asked “I-I’m so glad you're here. H-have you been waiting for me?” she says looking at the flowers.

“I’m planting these beauties for Lilia~”

Beaming a smile the good two-leg’s breath became stronger as she shook. “Y-your so sweet Arrienal.” then extending a hand to the two-leg the “B-but we should go back now; e-everyone’s waiting….”

“I’m planting these beauties for Lilia~”

Freezing there the good two-leg asked with growing dread “A-arrienal…?”

An unexpected Visitor
The plane of echos was always lively with the dead, Souls performing their last act, something Naury came to watch quite often... However, they have neglected visiting the continent of Yalasere recently. Most of the human souls here are damaged and fragmented, displaying little more then the pain of their last moments as the Empires goons rip them apart.

Yet today, a different presence was there, something living. They would assume it was just a bat that got lost during their migrations. Afterall, one of their... Siblings would be the right term? Well, he was fond of them, and occasionally visited the echos to write down their favorite parts. Even if Naury has not seen him recently. And today, they would not see him either, as someone else was on this flower bed.

"I am afraid this is just a recollection of Arrienal. Performing its final act until it fades as all souls do." They approach the person, standing beside them. A little smaller than her, their features were fully hidden by a large cloak, black shadows obscuring the face under the hood. "They were important to you, I take it?"

The bat could see the young woman nod. “S-she loves me…” nodding her head side to side in denial “She l-loves me!” the woman turns to Naury, tears in her grief-filled eyes.

“I’m planting these beauties for Lilia~” the soul said again.

The woman for her part looked hurt by the statement, looking back at it. [COLOR="#800080"]“Arrienal… even now she…” clutching her chest with clear pain the woman continues “You love me.”

The bat cooed at the woman to try and calm her down, being the only one who could see her tears at the moment. After a moment composing herself the woman looked back over at Naury “C-can you h-help Arrienal? S-she still loves me…”

The cloaked figure holds in a moment, seemingly thinking. Naury should have explained how the Dead Soul was not capable of emotions like love anymore, how it was not a person, or even as much as a being at the moment... Yet, they did not like to watch suffering much. The image of Arrienal once again repeated the phrase, which Naury can only assume to cause yet more suffering in the woman.

Extending a hand to the shoulder of the dead soul, at its core still a far removed fragment of Nauries power (even if something seems unusual about it. But being it lived as part of a creation of another, it did not concern Naury to much), the Dead Soul stopped speaking mid-sentence. "We are going for a walk." It started standing up like in a trance, and not exactly unlike the mindless undead tool created earlier in movement. "Say, Lilia, where would be the body of Arrienal?"

The bat could feel Lilia still for a bit at the sight before her. Uncomprehending what she was thinking, it simply continued it’s cooing to sooth her. Raising a hand to pet it, the bat felt like they had accomplished something.

“T-the body… that was moved sh-shouldn’t be far away, in the other…” Lilia looked away from the flower field towards the direction of a nearby town “W-we tried to have her move… but she didn’t come back. Arrienal was put s-somewhere safe so she could be watched over t-till I came back…. P-probably Molly’s home, it’s big… b-but! That’s n-not this place….” Lilia pets the bat some more looking between the direction of the town and Naury repeatedly.

Guiding the Soul towards the Towns Echo, and underway passing small snippets of the lives of animals and people alike being acted out by ever more so faded souls, making sure that Lilia is following. "It is easier for me to move the soul here, where there is nothing that can interfere but us." And soon, they reach the small collection of homes, people visibly walking around, moving, making sound, but also slightly vague, as the plane has a hard time grasping their living forms... And there Naury pushes open whatever door is pointed out as the right one, behind which a much more perfect Echo of a corpse is laied out.

Lacking orders, the Undead in the first world merely stays idle, waiting for a Master to give it a task. "This is a first for me as well. I have yet to save someone from death after it already ocured." And the soul is guided to sit down on the bed, as Naury starts to slowly push it into the echo... The forms start to overlap, and even attempts to move back towards the flower rings the moment the god takes their grip of, yet Naury simply gives it another, much more gentle push, as the soul fades from the plane of echos... And the Echo of Arrienal's body starts to turn vague. Tense seconds pass, and it jolts up.

A mumble in Mollies home would surprise the follower, as the Corpse says “-beauties for Lilia~”, before slowly falling back to the bed. The heart is not beating, the skin still grey. There was no life yet for Arrienal's Soul to attach itself to.

The bat was watching the strange display with open fear, taking a step deeper into Lilia’s hood as she held her voice back.

“Arrienal…” LIlia says as she steps forward towards the still-dead woman. “I-I know you love me, I know its in your heart… even now, you still l-love me.” she takes another step closer “You should a-also know…” she takes a step next to the woman, the bat shivered a bit so close to the dead two-leg mumbling “T-that I…”

Then grabbing Arrienal’s hands with her own Lilia says:

“I love you! Don’t ever go! I want you to love me forever!”

A crack in the heart, a change of the body, as Arrienal’s eyes gained a glimmer in them. At first she lazily looked down at her hands which each held a blooming flower, and then looked up at Lilia in silence.

“A-arrienal?” Lilia asked, the bat very confused as to how much it should be afraid of the maybe-corpse person.

“... I planted a few flowers for you, Lilia~” Arrienal says with a smile.

Lilia let out a sigh as she put Arrienal’s hand to her cheek “D-don’t tease me like that… t-that’s not what I want right now…”

“Who is…?” Arrienal wanted to ask seeing Naury, but kept quiet as Lilia came first.

Curious. The Mortal could see into the Plane of Echos now, despite the soul having returned to the first world. "Just Naury, a Stranger that has extended some help to Humanity before." The moment Arrienal was aware, Nauries coat once again resembles more something of the old stories of the healing herbs, not like they have been watched long as the true subject of desire was besides, if still parted by planes.

"I think I will remember this story for a long time, but I am taking my leave now. You will find your way back to your people on your own I assume?" There was no long wait for an answer, as Naury corrected the sit of a Mask they seemingly had on since they entered the town, and left for the door as it slowly but surely faded back into its closed position, restoring the symmetry between the Echo and the first World.

Arrienal nods at Naury's words, her attention already straying back to Lilia who let out a simple word of thanks before pulling Arrienal outside in a hurry.

The poor bat clinging to Lilia's shoulder yelped, brightening the faces of the women just in time for someone to notice them.

Spoiler: Actions

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15/16 AP

-3 AP Create Legends (Shared with Naury) - Flower Maidens: These women in the service of Lilia are the result of a soul that has been fully corrupted by Lilia’s love returning to their mortal husk, blooming like a seed into a flower that connects the two once more. It requires Lilia’s confession to sprout, keeping their numbers small.

Graced with an ageless existence the blooming flowers from the soul of a flower maiden very slowly cover the body, each one granting a small measure of strength or replicate a power of one of Lilia’s flowers without expending them. With care flower maidens may remove these flowers and plant them in gardens; which allows for their return after another death via implanting one of these flowers onto a dead body (some of the more openly morbid gardens may have these flowers growing on the bones of victims to let the maiden return faster).

Flower maidens may form pacts in the same manner Lilia does in her name, acting in her place whenever she is away from a particular cult’s location.

Able to see into the world of Echoes it is even possible for flower maidens to replicate the act of love that returns one from the dead; however, it is typically time consuming as they must persuade a non-sentient soul by pulling on Lilia’s love that is inside it (making those more corrupted by it easier to work with) to return it to it’s husk. This process does not make more flower maidens, only beloved. Emotion (Envy) 6/10

-1 Create Sub-Species - Beloved: Returned to the living by a flower maiden’s hard work and confession, the beloved share the same flowery appearance as them; but have their flesh rot away till nothing but skeleton and flowers remain. While sentient and ageless they find training themselves to be an arduous task, and their bodies are far weaker than they were in life.

While they grow flowers upon their skeletal bodies, they do not grant the beloved any additional strength nor can they be planted elsewhere to prevent final death.

Fanatical to their flower maidens beloved are prized members of nearly any maiden cult.

Emotion (Envy) 7/10

11/16 AP

**DasIrrlicht** · 2023-09-19, 10:18 PM (ISO 8601)

Naury, are Souls people? Probably not? They would have noticed if they where, right?

They wandered the Plane of Echos thinking. Lilia had been not exactly subtle about her believe that the Soul was still 'Arrienal', despite shoulding have known better. That did plant the seed of doubt inside Naury as they watched yet another story being performed. The dead around the empire all tend to be rather same-y, even when the souls are fully intact instead of arriving already fading to this plane. Their most important moments tended to be their death, their greatest fight, or in some rare (for this part of the world) cases, the birth of their offspring.

They also where all rather forgettable. Rarely is it worth to stop, most can be witnessed in passing, and that was it. Yet, that may be part of the problem. The Souls retain nearly all what made the person themself, and it gets lost as it fades away. They only ever present a snippet of what they are... But who is to judge what Souls performances should be larger, more elaborate, more encompassing of their life as a whole? Naury deciding themself, on a case to case basis, would defeat the purpose of the whole system they build up. It would consume all of their time with the parts of peoples lives that they had no investment in... No, it had to be something else that judges, something with no stake in the matter...

The answer came to Naury days later, when wandering the First World and listening to the stories of the living. And the stories they told of their dead. A seemingly simple solution to a complex question, the living will decide which dead will perform greater and grander, and they won't even know they do.

The Souls of the Remembered, Legends and Myths whos tales was told to their lifetimes, from Folk Hero to Matriarch. Still 'Alive' in the collective memories of people for what they archived their Dead Souls now hold a spark of that life within them. Of course, not truly People still, they imitated themself well. One could even touch them, spar with them, or hold a conversation with them, as they would not fade as long as enough people still know who they used to be.

Satisfied with the results, Naury took to experiment. While Souls where clearly not alive, the small seed of doubt kept nagging on their mind. They have created life on accident before, afterall, so this time, they would do so on purpose. Something to keep a eye on the souls, should they have been wrong. Something to collect the stories Naury misses to retell them as well. Something flexible, which can serve whatever purpose they may have arrise later as well...

With a scoop out of the Echo of the great lakes of the triangular chain, a flask was filled. It was swirled and concentrated, until released to be a small amorphous blob. Yet, Naury does not have need for a mindless monster. They wanted their Servants on this plane to be able to think, and to act on their own judgement. So the steps where accelerated, and Naury gave them mind themself instead of leaving it to time and circumstance. Their forms where smaller and less detailed then the ones of the first worlds Galotians, and their minds more focused on fulfilling what was needed of them at any given time, as requested by Naury.
Drawing of the ambient energy of the planes fading souls, their biology created from the same matter as the plane was even less so there then that of the Ooze they are based of. One could agure the aptly named 'Echo-Servants' are more akin to the Echos of their home plane then to their literal Kin, yet their mind retained many of the features of the originals. A drive to imitate and to find out. What they did not have, a unintentional but not unwelcome side effect of their nature, was their own souls.

Not being of the First World, Nauries original donations never reached them in a way that could be attached. Being Soulless is surprisingly not a new concept, and one can live fine without one... But the lack did leave them limited to only what their, admittedly impressive simplification of a already simple biology, naturally allowed.

The duo was more or less sneaking inside the library. Bats entered and leaved, and if the shadows where to be trusted, a truly gigantic one was somewhere between the endless bookcases, records of all of history unorganised piled around them.

Some of the text where written into stone, others artisian books of materials they have never seen on the triangular chain before. The languages the records where written in ranged from incomprehensable to instinctivley understood... Regardless, whatever lords over what cemented itself in their minds as Akashic has seemingly not noticed them yet... And they would not try to pull the attention of a being as powerful as it must be towards them on purpose, as the duo heads deeper, yet deeper into the unorganised records.

Spoiler: Naury AP Spending

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2 AP LEFT
4 AP ROUNDSTART

2 AP - Create Legends (shared with Slintoch) [Life (Vitality) 8/10]

Flower Maidens
The result of possibly the first time the Deities of the First World consciously cooperated, they where the first people to have a life after death, becoming something more then Human in the process. Connected to the first world via their flowers, death has become merely a temporary inconvenience for their service to the Flower Maiden. While they are aware of Nauries part in their original creation and the happenings on the Plane of Echos, it is Lilias corrupting Love that allows them to exist, and their loyalty is unquestionable with her and her alone.

2 AP - Blessing/Curse [Life (Vitality) 10/10]

The Souls of the Remembered
As far as Naury is concerned, Dead Souls are not People. Yet, they have witnessed them being talked of like they are still people, treated like people, even refusal of seeing them as anything else then the person they where part of in life. Especially now that some life has already found access to the plane of echos, it was worth it to invest a little more in them. As long as a Person is truly remembered for who they where, their Soul will retain some form of Sapience. This Remembered Souls can speak and interact with other beings that find ways to contact them, and perform much more varied and elaborate displays of the most important moments of their life. Yet, they are still not truly People anymore, and can not learn themself or grow beyond who they where in life. They will fade if forgotten by the first worlds inhabitants, impossible to return once gone.

1 AP - Create Sub-Life (Staying a Race) [Ooze (Gelatons) 7/10]

Echo-Servant (Echo-Servants)
Recreating the process that made the Galotians on the Plane of Echos to the best of Nauries abilities, they are a soul-less people. On a glance easily confused with their First World cousins, the humble Echo-Servants are lacking the alkaline properties, and sustain themself of the spare divine energy set free as souls fade away. They are a goal oriented Race created to aid Naury in maintaining and observing the Plane of Echos, as well as giving the Remembered the slightest bit of company in a realm never intended to hold any sentience at all.
While the lack of a Soul as every being of the First World had been granted makes them immune to some effects altering or utilising it, they are still people who can develop their own personalities, hopes and ideals... Be it with a unwavering loyalty to their creator, a feature inspired by the Maiden Naury helped create before. As there is no fading souls outside their home plane however, they would need to constantly take in another pure energy source if seperated, especially since they have no way of storing any energy they take in either.

________
1 AP Left

Progress:
[Society (Stories) 6/10]
[Life (Vitality) 10/10]
[Ooze (Gelatons) 7/10]

**KatsOfLoathing** · 2023-09-20, 10:18 PM (ISO 8601)

Sinking, Churning, Rising

A story in three parts.

I.

Dead things do not float.

Perhaps this was misleading. Things that were dead, as in killed, did float. A porpoise that had been gored by a thrown harpoon after straying too close to a fishing boat would float. The drowned corpses of the fishermen, vengeance enacted upon them by the hunters beneath the sea, would float. Even a leviathan, at the end of its long and violent life, would choke out a final breath and allow the waves to carry it to shore.

Things that are killed, float. But for something to become truly dead it must lose more than its life, have torn from it more than its soul. For the First World danced with echoes; a second refrain that remembered and replayed the actions of every simple soul to eternity, attended to by gel-men and watched over by many higher beings. Those things were not dead but simply left behind. Another ripple on the shore to be discovered by a wandering pair of feet. No, for something to die, well and truly, it needed to lose not only its soul and its form but all that bound it to the First World — the memories and relationships and connections that held it close to those that knew it.

And when those connections are severed and the memories are lost? Then a thing is well and truly dead, and it would no longer float. Instead it would drift downwards, into the deep and the dark, forever.

And so the god of the deep drifted downwards with them, leaving behind hidden caves and curious fish-men for something even further removed from the world. It drifted in that airless, mindless place below the world, that lost Abyss, and in its almost-uninterrupted slumber it began to accumulate many things.

The dominion of lost places began slowly. A whalebone knife, left behind in a moment of crisis, spun in lazy circles in that dark, watery world below the world. The crumbled remains of a great city, destined to house and protect many but scoured to its ash and bones by a dragon before its time, ferried through the void in great earthen clusters. The souls of a hunting band, trapped in the mountains during an early and fierce winter, stalked as a cloud of specters across the never-built metropolis.

Other things made their way into the Abyss as well. Dreams, nightmares visited upon the simple souls above by the gods that fed and ate them. Wonderful things they had dreamed of and then forgotten. Horrible nightmares they had done everything to regret, raw and unfinished in their splendor for parts of their taint still remained in mortal minds. Down in this watery void, cities the mortals would never build spanned for miles, drifting untethered in the shadows of titanic beasts even the gods would struggle to slay. All of it had been created, by hand or by mind, and then forgotten. None of it would ever see the light of the First World again.

Almost none, perhaps. The god of the deep in its mindless route through this new place swam past a cage, one that had not been there before because it had been created to contain something that had not existed before. A small figure in concealing cloaks was held within that cage; bound by metal chains between six great pillars. No one spoke of this figure for down here none could speak, but if it had been acknowledged it would smell of ink and parchment and ring with the sound of breaking shackles. Its cage pitched and yawed between the great pillars that thought to bind it here.

The god of the deep did not acknowledge any of this. Instead, it continued to drift and to dream. Its one brief moment of wakefulness had created enough waves on the shore to last quite some time yet.

II.

When the king rose from those forgotten depths, he was angry.

So much. So much he had been shown by the Creator beneath the waves, in that brief moment of knowing and being known by it. His people had toiled and struggled for so long beneath the surface of the First World — for what? A life of alleged safety, of toiling every day to keep themselves fed and never truly knowing sunlight or warmth or community?

Things the blasted surface dwellers had in abundance. A travesty that existed to be righted. The once-boy who now knew himself by the true name of the Fathomking swirled upwards through forbidden caves and dark confined spaces into open ocean above, and then further and further heavensward from there, until his great monstrous form burst through the surface of the ocean and regarded what lay beyond with a mixture of aching curiosity and boiling, scalding contempt.

Far in the distance, a small fleet of fishing boats plied the waves, some spearing larger fish while others cast nets to gather minnow and crabs, and still others kept watch for the leviathans and other great monsters of the sea that might attack their ships. Too late and too slow, for the Fathomking was upon them. He was a great and terrible thing — the shadow of a sea-folk’s form, but distorted and monstrous, with a mass of octopus tentacles where he might have legs and fins, a great shelled claw in place of one arm, and countless cerulean eyes that burned with anger towards the surface folk.

One swing of that great claw and an enormous wave crested forth and swallowed half of the fishing vessels, smashing them to kindling beneath its foaming mass. The others in the surviving boats just barely had time to scream, for the Fathomking’s tentacles found them then and crushed the air from their lungs wherever it did. The whole thing had ended before the fish that had been gathered into nets had time to gasp their last breaths, and then they were released back into the ocean and the Fathomking floated alone in a tide of wreckage and blood and pondered what was the point to any of this.

When the king descended back into the ocean to find his family, he was thoughtful.

He was no longer the curious boy that searched through hidden caves to sate his childish curiosity, but some part of that boy, the part that longed for change and refused to accept tradition at face value, dwelled within the bloated and dark heart of the Fathomking. He found his family and loved ones — terrified at first sight of him, but quickly understanding and even reverent for they knew that this being was the Song of the Deep’s true chosen — and told them what he planned to do. Then, with tides guided by his ever-growing divine strength, on currents to far-away places found by his ever-expanding divine senses, he sent his family off to find others like them.

The sea-folk had long existed in small and survivable family-pods, scattered across the oceans of the first world and rarely seeing much contact with each other except when in need of trade or food. The Fathomking sought to change that. Calling out by divine power and by lesser sea-folk, he began to organize them.

No longer were the sea-folk alone and isolated, for the king mandated them into true communities, growing to rely on each other and share knowledge they had acquired from across the oceans. No longer did they hunt in small and disorganized packs, for now great schools of men trawled the ocean floor for sustenance to bring home to their families and cities. No longer did the sea-folk lack home and hearth and belonging, for the Fathomking swallowed the bile in his heart and told them of the world above, of the metal weapons they wielded and the cities they had built to protect themselves. And so they built it themselves — great cities of the deep, monuments to the Deepest Sea in their jagged and swirling construction, and in the largest of them the temple-throne to the Fathomking himself was built.

When the king took his throne, he was determined. The surface-dwellers above him had not yet understood their folly, their insolence in refusing his Creator’s beloved song. But they would. Soon.

III.

She was running out of time.

Nightshade knelt by the stream and allowed the churning waters to wash the blood from her claws. An unnecessary practice, perhaps, for one of her placement upon the great divine chain could simply will stains and impurity from herself with as much effort as an animal might breathe. But to clean was a ritual, and rituals were important to the first true witch of the First World.

So clean she did. The blood flowed away from her forearms in crimson rivulets, as it made its way down the stream Nightshade listened to the bubbling brook before her. As she well knew, all water had been once and would be again part of the great ocean, and the ocean was the domain of her Creator, the Deepest Sea itself. The stream spoke to her like an old friend and she listened with grave intent, for it had much to tell.

Great change was stirring from beneath the waves. Her little cousins, the fish-men who had once hidden in crags and busied themselves hunting crabs and eels, were becoming organized, and her brother was to blame. He had inherited too much of their Creator’s tide and fury, she thought, and not enough of the night and the song. He promised great destruction to the surface world if Nightshade did not prepare them appropriately, and there was still much to do. Those abominable sun-eaters were becoming more organized too, their atrocities more brutal and blasphemous every day. They would have to be dealt with first. But she was only the shard of a larger god, and her limited divine senses could tell that the so-called empire had multiple Creators at its back. She had to prepare further, there was so much to do…

“Who are you?” Ah. A mistake. She had dallied too long and now fished for her own failure. Nightshade rose and turned from the stream to regard the humans she had rescued. The sun-eaters had captured them as chattel and planned for worse; now they picked their way through the gore of the slavers Nightshade had left behind with wide eyes and freed limbs. This was not normally part of her ritual. She was not one to remain behind and console victims of the crimes she righted, for there was always more that could be saved. But today her mind was clouded and she felt herself hesitating. “Please,” The small, scared man at the head of their band spoke again, “You saved us from those cannibals. Who are you?”

“I am,” She began then paused, her voice hoarse. Her tongue rarely saw use when her fangs and claws were often enough. “It does not matter who I am. Go, take your freedom with both hands while you still have it.”

After a moment, the leader of the group gave her a shaky nod, and the rest of the band began to gather their meager belongings and make their way back into the woods beyond. Still Nightshade lingered. Why? The empire had taken many more victims besides these, and there would surely be many more to come in the future. Every second she tarried, disaster rippled outwards. But was she sufficient to contain the flow of that poison? She was only the splinter of a god, doing her best to stem the tide…

Unless she had another to aid her.

One of the former slaves, the young woman with the haunted eyes further away from her, was god-touched — it was a subtle thing, intriguingly done, but Nightshade’s divine senses were sufficient to unravel that particular knot. “You,” She called out to the woman, “Halt.”

Suddenly fearful, the woman tried to back away, almost losing her footing on the splattered offal of a sun-cultist, but Nightshade advanced at a swift pace and the other former slaves parted like a wave around her. “You have been chosen by another Creator,” She said to the stricken woman, “Intriguing. I would request that you take me to where she can be found.”

“Please,” The woman pleaded in a hoarse whisper, “Don’t make me go back there. I barely escaped the first time. The… things that live there, they’re not human, or at least not anymore —”

“I will handle it, child,” Nightshade replied, then summoned the smallest fraction of her divine authority, “Guide me.”

And so they went, traveling together across moist forests and heat-blasted plains. The woman required food or rest frequently; Nightshade hunted for prey or stood vigil for she required neither. A difficult trek in different ways for each, but eventually they arrived: A perfectly circular clearing in a forest, bursting alive with flower-blossoms with petals that fluttered in every color of the rainbow. Individuals danced in singles and pairs amongst the bloom; beautiful and terrifying for their bodies grew more flowers but no skin. They did not halt except to acknowledge Nightshade and the woman, then return to their florid reverie.

At the center of the swirl of revenants stood a woman — skin pale as alabaster, each of her fingertips intertwined with violets and cherry blossoms, standing en pointe and twirling in a perfect circle. She did not even have to acknowledge the pair for the woman to creep back in fear, her expression a tight mask of horror. Nightshade was undeterred. She strode into the flower garden, taloned feet churning the fresh earth, then halted a few paces from the god-touched maiden and bowed deeply. Should she have wished, she could have brought all arranged here to their knees with a single spoken word, but one witch must show respect to another within their own domain. This, too, was ritual.

“Maiden of Many Flowers”, she said as her head rose, “I am Nightshade, Daughter of the Deepest Sea. I would speak with your master, for there is much to discuss.”

Spoiler: AP Accounting

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Rollover: 6 AP Starting + 4 AP Rollover = 10 AP

Weave Plane - The Abyss (3 AP): A world beneath the First World, beneath even the deepest darkness of the Hollow Earth. Crafted in dreams by Fahveth, it is an endless expanse of watery void through which the things that have been forgotten by the world above drift in perpetuity. Lost items, forgotten and abandoned projects, and even living creatures who were removed from the memory of those around them can be found down here. Monsters and civilizations created in the dreams of mortals, some of them incredibly powerful but unable to truly manifest due to their inherent incompleteness, are also found in this place. While time effectively does not flow in the Abyss and it is possible to essentially become immortal by entering this place, finding one's way in is incredibly difficult for only those who have been well and completely forgotten by everyone who knew them can enter — and only those who are forgotten and somehow remembered again can ever leave. (Space [Boundaries] 4/10)

Form Racial Society - The Thousand Leagues (2 AP): The racial society of the Sea-Folk, formed and organized by their messiah and immortal ruler, the Fathomking. While still scattered across the oceans of the First World, the Sea-Folk now form organized communities that gather, cooperate, and hunt as one unit, and adapt technology that they have observed among the air-breathing societies for their own use. Being so far from the surface and the sun and stars means they cannot use magic (be it Pact or Arcane), but they retain the inherent protection from the leviathans and the madness of the Song, giving them the ability to travel and organize freely. The Leagues primarily operate out of massive conclave-cities carved into the seafloor, located mostly in mid-equatorial regions throughout the world. (Travel [Worlds] 5/10)

Final Tally
5 AP Remaining
Travel (Worlds) 5/10
Space (Boundaries) 4/10

**Demidos** · 2023-09-21, 02:34 AM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: Fahveth's Perspective

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Almost none, perhaps. The god of the deep in its mindless route through this new place swam past a cage, one that had not been there before because it had been created to contain something that had not existed before. A small figure in concealing cloaks was held within that cage; bound by metal chains between six great pillars. No one spoke of this figure for down here none could speak, but if it had been acknowledged it would smell of ink and parchment and ring with the sound of breaking shackles. Its cage pitched and yawed between the great pillars that thought to bind it here.

Sagmi, Mother of Monsters and Legends --

A cage in the depths shudders violently, and thick chains groan. No one knows how long the cage has existed, not even its occupant. Perhaps even its occupant least of all. The cage shudders and time passes uncounted in the depths of the Abyss. Forever passes and no time at all, until something new occurs. An object, a small book lovingly bound falling through the depths bumps against the cage, and falls between the bars. The shaking stops, as the Entity within pauses to appraise the book, ever so cautiously reaching out one formless tendril to feel and inspect. A children's book, with songs and tales within, telling the story of a great adventure of a child destined to rule, spanning many nights and one. The Entity finds the release and opens the clasp, beginning to take in the strange symbols adorning the page. Faster and faster the pages turn, until the pages are a blur. until suddenly, it is over. The Entity is gone. In its place is a child, masked. It is small, much smaller than the Entity was, and the chains that bound the Entity are too large, sliding from slender legs and abruptly missing tendrils to pool on the floor. Now, only two chains are left, on delicate wrists. Two is much fewer than six, and words appear, booming, an escape leapt from the pages and writ large on reality itself, spoken as if by the world itself. The words give strength, and it is the work of moments for the child to break the remaining two chains. Up, up, up swims the child, as the cage disappears into the depths.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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The Cage of Gods (Combat Artifact) 3 AP: A cage, now partially broken and lost to the Abyss, but built of such exquisite craftsmanship and with such infused magic that it can trap almost anything or anyone indefinitely even now. Any who find it might gain great power, but also will face the eternal enmity of a nascent goddess. Magic (Inksworn) 3/10

16-3= 13 remaining AP, banking on the 1 week grace period to give me a bit of time to work out the exact domain I'm putting this towards. Tentatively thinking of Magic (Storytelling), as apparently we have no magic god in this setting yet (!)

**MutantDragon** · 2023-09-21, 02:50 PM (ISO 8601)

Of Hatred Beyond Time

Harkit had lived for many years longer than even the oldest of elders. Age, it seemed, could not catch up to the strongest; the reason why would elude all study, though such a thing was never done. Not in the empire. Harkit was the strongest, so he would live for as long as he was. Such was the way of the sun, such was the way of the cult. But as time went on, more and more cultists would exist seemingly beyond the touch of time. The strongest, the most fanatical. They lived on in youth as others withered and succumbed to the weaknesses of age. Though they did not know it, a subtle change had occurred: their feasting upon should extended to bolster their lives, staving off age for as long as one could still devour living sapients. This was the new way of the world. And the Immortal Cultists would use the sun's blessings to continue their holy labor.

----

The Mold Men were becoming a nuisance. The cultists' degraded sanity led to them feasting even upon rotting, fungus infested undead. But this too served a purpose. Those who were weak of mind were weeded from the world and in their places were left perfect distillations of what strengths they had: their hunger, their tenacity, and their brute physical strength. These would be preserved and amplified, and the more clear minded cultists would learn, in time, to preserve fallen Mold Men to feed to the weakest of their number. For if a servant of the sun was too weak to properly live and kill, it could be made into a weapon; a dangerous and volatile weapon, but a weapon nonetheless. The Mold Men would continue to be a nuisance, but, sometimes, they could be something more.

----

Slintoch observed the happenings of the world and he was pleased. Hatred, death, pain; these things spread like the fires he so loved, and endured longer than the sun itself. He watched the First World suffer and it was good. But then he sensed something wrong. Several cultists had been touched by a magic unlike any other the First World had known. Magic based on emotion. A novel idea, likely spawned by one of The Destroyer's ever-creative siblings. But the intended application was limited and weak. Healing was anathema to the hatred that blossomed within the god's heart. So instead he used another of his siblings creations: dreams.

----

Harkit stood in an open field gazing up at the sun. Suddenly, he was swept up in the flames of his master and rip from the First World. He ascended ever higher into the void until stopping before the Great Flame itself. The sun then spoke to Harkit, telling it to travel to the edge of the empire and speak to a brother cultist who had lost his way. A herald by the name of Vandrek would be Harkit's target. But the taint of the man was not to be cleansed until Harkit had learned from him and extracted the secrets imparted by the lone Pale One who had healed him years before. Then Harkit awoke.

----

Slintoch observed as Harkit traveled to meet his future victim, observed as the new magic was imparted to the Empire's champion, observed as Harkit devoured his teacher once the last ounce of power had been extracted. Slintoch knew Harkit would learn to channel his rage and hatred into fire and strength. What surprised him was Harkit imbuing his sword with a measure of his wrath. The idea pleased Slintoch, so Slintoch lent some of his own fury to the act, creating a weapon like none other in the mortal plane.

Spoiler: OOC

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Rollover!
2AP + 4AP = 6AP

Bless/Curse (Timeless Hunger) 1AP: Those who partake in the Diet of Doom use a fraction of the devoured soul-stuff to extend their own lives by retarding or even reversing the effects of aging. [War (Slaughter) 2/10]

Create Subconcept (Channel Healing -> Channel Wrath) 2AP: Those who learn this magical art can channel their hatred and anger into energy, allowing them to increase their strength, conjure flames, and enhance weapons. [War (Slaughter) 4/10]

Create Minor Combat Artifact (Sword of Harkit) 3AP: This weapon, belonging to Harkit of the Empire of the Sun, is a bronze sword that bursts with malice, both mortal and divine. It can cut through almost any substance and bursts into flames when used. Additionally, it guides its users hand when used in battle and whispers bile while it is not, driving the wielder to ever greater heights of slaughter. [War (Slaughter) 7/10]

6AP - 6AP = 0AP

**Demidos** · 2023-09-21, 04:31 PM (ISO 8601)

Sagmi, Mother of Monsters and Legends --

A child perches on a hand that spans continents, comfortably nestled between the index finger and the palm and looks down at the world below. She has travelled far now, from continent to continent, observing the local beings. It seems such a dull world, the excitement found in her books far and apart in brief sporadic bursts of glory which soon fade back into a monotonous grind. Where are the cities of legend, where heroes rise, fight and die? The Empire of the Sun offers some solace, but there is little good in that land to counteract the evil. Meddling there would certainly be the story she Seeks, muses the child, and yet…

A small burst of rebellion against the natural order, far below in Yalasere, attracts her notice and divine senses, scattering her train of thought. Sagmi descends to the flooded grasslands of northwestern Yalasere, a peaceful area inhabited only by small roving bands of humans still largely untouched by the heavy hand of civilization. A Genius Loci is dying, Sagmi notes on drawing near, bleeding orange spirit ichor which dissipates shimmering into the air. A burning hamlet nearby, caught on fire due to a Kami’s lightning storm gone awry, is the obvious cause. The low-lying wetlands are flooded and grassy, but lightning cares not when the hamlet was clustered on a single grassy knoll far above the water. A single woman still stands on the outskirts of town, unresponsive, staring blankly at the corpses of neighbors and town alike. Most Loci would have dissipated by now, but this one stubbornly fights on, raging against the casual destruction of his community.

An ending. Or perhaps, Sagmi muses, a beginning. No, an origin. Sagmi bends down to whisper into the ear of the dying Genius Loci, telling stories. Stories of nature consuming, of towns broken by floods, fires, hurricanes, and earthquakes. Of people devastated by wolves, and snuffed out by ocean waves. The air distorts with the fury of the Genius Loci, but then the stories evolve, speaking of cities growing, expanding, laws roads and walls all safe from future depredations of capricious Kami. Safety in numbers. The struggle of the weak Genius Loci against the omnipresent Kami. Sagmi gently guides the Genius Loci back to the broken woman, linking its fate and hers. A perversion of a Genius Loci, no longer the soul of a settlement, no longer the heart of a community, but a twisted one, seeking only to assimilate, to bring more into the fold, to try and rebuild the peoples it has lost.

Sagmi watches, hidden, as the Genius Loci grows and subdues more men and women. Enough to reform the hamlet, and then hunts down and kills the Kami responsible for the storm. The hamlet grows to a village, and then a town, her very presence infusing the town with stories of power and dreams of great deeds. The people of the town are proud, pushing back their neighbors and attacking, subjugating, and killing the nearby Kami with the help of their Genius Loci. Building larger, ever larger. The town has a name now, a name to match their ambitions – Kish-Eru, The Place of Floods, the First City. Soon, soon this will be the origin of a new story.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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Curse of Civilization (1 AP): Sagmi teaches the Genius Loci of the inherent struggle between the oppressive wilds and the small beacons of civilization that have begun to emerge. Powerful enough Genius Loci can subdue or kill Kami as they intrude on and repurpose their old haunts. Arts (Storytelling) 1/10

Form Society (Kish-Eru) (2 AP): Kish-Eru is a place of arts, of beautiful stories told in a half-sunken town dreaming of greatness. However, they also show little regard for the land, killing and taking to grow to become a city at any cost, pushing back the constant encroachment of nature. Arts (Storytelling) 3/10

Create Mundane Concept (Storytellers) (1 AP): Sagmi’s fascination with tales of bravery and villainy infects all who are nearby. Skalds, Bards, and Actors are all inspired to share their tales with others (Writers already exist). Arts (Storytelling) 4/10

13-4=9 AP remaining

**Omoikane13** · 2023-09-22, 08:27 AM (ISO 8601)

Kish-Eru, Softened

Sagmi’s corrupt locus was inherently repulsive to Hroad, or so they first thought. Later thoughts were moderate, crowding out thoughts of terraforming the deserts of Adanat, pushing Hroad’s focus to the backward function of Kish-Eru. Loci were supposed to represent a community, to be the embodied soul of a group, but this…thing was forceful. It roped people into itself, brought them in, hooked, cajoled, forced. And Hroad could sense that the child-god of monsters had sown this into the mental loam of every locus.

Troublesome.

Hroad also don't want to get into some back and forth, especially with such an unstable, new deity as Sagmi. Some changes, though, would at least be possible. Something to constrain these twisted loci and at least bring them back onto some lawful path.

Hroad reached into the being of Kish-Eru’s locus, and through it to all others possibly cursed, and wrote a new rule. No longer would they destroy and raze. Instead, something more reasonable, albeit not perfect. They would have to subjugate and enlist those other loci and kami, preserving them but connecting themselves to them. Perhaps, in the future, this could even extend to creating hive minds of sorts, new creatures. For now, it would prevent the excesses of plunder and pillage.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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Bless [2 AP, counter to Curse of Civilization]: Some genius loci can now become twisted and inverted, due to Sagmi's curse. Hroad cannot simply erase this, but has made it so that rather than murder and destroy nearby regions, towns, local kami, etc. these corrupted loci must assimilate these other beings, permanently tying the other to themself. In this sense, they may form almost a hive mind of sorts, or a single being with many tendrils.

As an example, if Kish-Eru (as a locus) wished to destroy the kami of a local forest, it can no longer do this. Instead, it must conceptually bind that kami to itself, making it a part of the larger Kish-Eru gestalt and inherently connected to Kish-Eru. This does not prevent things like destruction of the forest, just as the existence of the kami in itself doesn't prevent the destruction of a forest. This also does not prevent mistreatment, although the troubles of a hive-mind could cause other problems.

As a note, while other loci with the curse can vary widely from malicious to simply reversed, Kish-Eru - as patient zero - continues to be comparatively unhinged.

Domains: Plants (Farming) +2/10

Current AP: 10

**DasIrrlicht** · 2023-09-22, 02:03 PM (ISO 8601)

Naury Small views into the Mortal Lives

Life is peaceful on the triangular chain.
But something was different about city folk...
There was always a slight split between the truly rural people and the ones living in towns. The Farmers and Ranchers, they are out there and either work the land, or sometimes, raise the dead and tame the greater beasts to do it for them. They where usually loners, only really talking to their family, most time just the youngest of any given farm travel to the towns to socialize, and sell their wares.

The townsfolk in turn had a habit of taking up crafts, taking up how to build greater and more lasting, designing more artistic or creative. Not having to find their materials themself, they could spend more time in bettering what they do. Even the ones who worked outside of the towns usually did so with their friends and neighbors more so then their families. Hunting parties who head out to either reduce the monster populations or wear down herds for food and hides, or Lumberjacks who camp out for a whole season to cut trees and barter with the guardians of the forest to replace what they take, before having the Auroch or even a Giant of the hands they bribe with good foodstuff carry it all home.

The Fishers of course are their own little Folk. Even at its best, sea travel was dangerous, and many of the fishers stick to the coast for that reason. Yet the best fish are found outside, and the most valuable flesh is of the odd leviathan that has grown old and got dragged up by currents it could no longer hold against. Many of them even fight with who they once considered their friends or siblings, as they have proven to weak-minded to resist the whispers of the ocean... Yet every once and again, some fishing village is suspiciously well-off, as if they had stricken an agreement with the sea-folk below the wave. Often, it is the traders that settle in such towns that they claim is the source of their wealth, however.

But... Something is different about city folk...
The word city is not new. Bigger towns have been termed that way every so often before, to many, the terms where basically interchangeable. Yet the people of the chain witnessed something somewhat new. Towns higher in the mountains started to change a bit. They started to get out of their way to combine, bleed into each other, unify to bigger settlements. They started to claim ownership over places that were outside their walls. Some even claimed farmsteads for themself, roping the farmers there to only deliver to them, so other towns had to come there to trade their wares for food.

City folk, it was about growth. Some might not even know the name of their neighbor, or what tailor they buy their clothes from. Things where made more, things where made faster. It was obvious for outside observers: The Cities, its where things focus. Where one is to go if one wants to get around. The centers of society. Even if they sometimes come to blows between each other...

Move. Consume. Split.
The live of the the Giant Ooze is simple. A unremarkable creature if not for their enormous size and constitution. Most of them simply move around the jungles and consume plantlife, wounded and weakened animals, or whatever else comes in their way. It is not unusual for them to close in on towns either, where usually the Genuine Loci will try to avert them with their walls of the local bamboo. While it often works, Bamboo is itself just plant life, and a sufficiently stubborn slime will simply press on. Literally, as they desolve what was meant to turn them away to get in to the sweet, sweet rewards inside the town, the houses filled with people, young and old, or stupid enough to fight the Ooze.

Of course, it is not unusual for a Ooze to be slain either. The Empires Metalworking is superior to anyone elses, possibly because of the bones they throw into the forges, possibly just the quality of ores they find. Metal withstands the Oozes well, and a sufficiently sized group can slice away on it till the membrane can not keep up with healing itself, spilling out the fluids uncontrolably, killing of the last of the assailants around it and poisoning the ground for months to come. Groups beside the Empire often venture out themself to slay or trap a Giant Ooze, just to avoid it coming to close to their fields of herbs, food or flowers and consuming their future.

And then there is the ones that strike it well. The Oozes that comes across any town decimated by the Plague. Mold Men lacked the smarts to run, the skill to defend, and the sanity to avoid. When a Giant Ooze comes across such a town, it is a feast that goes on days or weeks, as it rapidly gains the mass to multiply over and over again, as its biology is unable to catch the plague...
Yet, there is no need for it to catch the plague.
The live of the the Giant Ooze is simple.
Move. Consume. Split.