Create a Giant Cosmic Space (Void?) Whale that gains nourishment from the ambient light.
[2] You create a planet-sized whale that draws energy from the light of the universe, and set it free in the void. It seems happy for the entirety of its almost instantaneous lifespan, and leaves a surprisingly elaborate skeleton behind. Why did it not live longer?
Create an Elder Dragon made of Light and Darkness to inhabit the void.
[3] You form the eldest of dragons, a rather small creature, about the size of a hefty moon, to dwell in the void. It is an image formed of an interplay of light and darkness, with no material form at all, and it readily gravitates (of its own free will, not due to gravity) to your golden disk.
USE AN UNESSISARILY COMPLICATED DEVICE TO GET THE CRABS TO WHERE THEY CAN REBUILD THEIR FORMER THRIVING STATE
[2] You attempt to craft a godly machine to harmonize the wiggling of the gelatinous nebula and give the crabs peace, but it does not seem to function any further than extremely locally. An influx of power, which you believe to be the obvious next step, only succeeds in undoing its overly complex mechanisms in short order.
Create life on my planet. Sapient, sentient, four-legged, two-legged, winged, finned, any combination of the above, all with their own natural oddities.
[6] You focus upon the planet, and creatures start to form at your behest. Sentient two-legged winged beasts with spiked that devour stone to nourish themselves appear immediately, with the land forming great mountainous spires for them to perch in and construct the great labyrinthine hives they prefer to dwell in. Sapient four-legged finned creatures covered in sensory tentacles appear as well, the land forming soft soil for them to excavate and producing great worms for them to seek out deeper underground and devour. Colossal winged trees spring up from thin air, detaching from their root system once mature and moving to another spot, with both the roots producing a new tree and the relocated tree shooting out new roots. These quickly form great forests along the surface, though their main area of proliferation seems to be the dried-out bloody plain of Seeches. And finally, the aforementioned great worms, formed of the land and your efforts alike, possessed of great hidden wisdom and knowledge, act as caretakers of the world, hunting both the four-legged ones that hunt them with a variety of cunning traps and any lifeform that proliferates beyond a reasonable area, with almost shocking effectiveness. The worms feast off the heat in the core of the planet, retreating to the depths whenever they feel they require sustenance.
Wiggle the crabs back to safety.
[6] You wiggle the gelatinous nebula with all of your might, getting all the crabs to concentrate in the central areas of the nebula and filling them with a mating frenzy. Though the crabs are small in number, they prove to be vigorous in their task, almost too vigorous - unskilled in the sensible regulation of their mating rituals, they fail to avert actual battles between particularly spirited individuals.
[5] Fortunately, the line between sparring for dominance and actual fighting becomes apparent after the first few injuries, and the crabs proliferate rapidly once more, filling the nebula with their increasingly elaborate orbital arrangements.
Create a planet to sustain life. Then create elves, dwarves, and men to shed blood.
[2] You sneak a look at Tuk's vibrant planet and seek to replicate it for your own needs, but cannot seem to manage the same thing - you pour too much power into it at first, and create a star, and then take away too much and make a small, cold, lifeless rock. The energies involved are logarithmically smaller than those in galaxy formation, and you can't quite seem to strike that balance, jumping back and forth from star to rock.
I AM CARL, GOD OF THE ORDINARY!
ATTEMPT TO SAVE THE CRABS AND THE JELLO NEBULA FROM THOSE OTHER BARBARIANS!
[6] You steal away Jublo's gelatinous nebula, hiding it away far across the fifth and fourth spatial dimensions in order to let it develop of its own accord. To keep yourself from interfering, you wipe the exact location from your own memory. Perhaps one day the crabs will return to this area, and who knows how they will have evolved?
I am Ogejabogeja, God of the Arcane!
Infuse the jello nebula with arcane energy such that all who eat from it are granted profound arcane knowledge
The gelatinous nebula has disappeared. You decide to look for it.
[2] However, both scanning the known universe and questioning Carl, who saw it last, produces no useful leads.
I am Zil, god of games. I create a separate, purely conceptual plane of existence, connected to the current plane by thoughts and dreams, that mortals can draw inspiration from.
[1] You create a shared dream of compelling complex concepts, lingering at the edge of thought of all sentient beings. It is the Conceptual Hoard, a virulent construct invisibly overlaid on the immense golden disk of Otyx that devours the thoughts of whoever is foolish enough to let it wander in, at the furthest stage of infection inducing a vegetative state in the victim. Thus the Hoard feeds itself, with an inner Thought Core growing more expansive in its purely conceptual space with each victim it consumes.
[3] On Tuk's planet, many victims start to appear as a great wave of thought loss sweeps over the sentient races. Least affected are the caretaker worms, and most affected are the winged hivebeasts, who are prone to lacking wisdom and willpower to resist the Hoard's mind plague.
I am Ankron the shadowed, Machine-God of Decisions! As my first action I create from the fabric of Void a great home of steel and construction engines, moving between the others' creations on a tail of atomic fire.
[2] You lovingly fabricate a massive machine, powered by nuclear fire and bristling with engines and articulate machine limbs for construction, pouring enough power in for it to reach all the corners of the universe five times over. Then, when you activate it, you watch with horror as the machine tears itself apart, its suboptimal structure lending itself well to faults and its overpowered engines proving too powerful for steel to hold them. In moments, cosmically speaking, your great steel home is reduced to twisted, sharp metal wreckage, some of the engines tearing themselves free and streaking away like miniature meteors, detonating in minor explosions after overheating, while others melt down while still within the former ship. The wreckage, now silent, nonfunctional and highly radioactive, drifts in space unassisted.
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Topic: Inexorable: a Minimalist Demigod Game (Read 80506 times)