I AM One With Thirteen Thousand Sides, MAYBE-DEMI-GOD OF THE FAITHFUL DICE OF POKE.
SUDDENLY REALIZE THAT I MAY OF KILLED MY CREATOR.
[4] Well, he rolled you, so you suppose he at least knew the risks. Maybe. Impossible to say now. You do believe you may have observed some interesting residue from his unraveling, however. You suppose that makes you a demigod now, so to speak.
Modify the crystals to react to my orders, to become protective of the phylactory room, and for them to build basic caste's of the new empire, the Crystallis
Soooon
[2] The assimilators, while they can be regulated with certain stimuli, don't seem willing to respond to wanton modification, quickly losing viability. They also don't seem fully sentient, except in the loosest possible sense, and thus respond poorly to attempts at teaching them anything.
So what do I do now
Respawn as demigod on my newly made planet
[6] You are now a fungal symbiont. You have no name, but you are most exceptional among your peers, for you have adapted to a thing few others have been able to: the vacuum of divine absence, mass unraveling. Your chemical cascades configured to bring about a rather broad scope demidivine changes, you consider your current situation. Your neighbors seem woefully behind you, development-wise.
Yell at the other gods from nonexistence, telling them to stay out of here
Nonexistence is not unlike a dreamless sleep, except it lasts forever.
Contemplate my new situation. Communicate with Seed. Meow.
[3] The New Tree does not seem to respond to your attempts at communication, presumably due to incompatibility in communication equipment. Your meows are similarly muffled by a whole lot of xylem. Your situation thus seems rather unfavorable, if not immediately dangerous to your well-being.
Go see how my faithful are doing.
[1] Your faithful refuse you entry into the city, failing to recognize your form. Your confident assertions that you are their god are met with a not insignificant amount of open hostility, given that they have all the hallmarks of vicious heresy.
Respawn in the voidlife preserve
[3] You are now a giant space quail, drifting aimlessly in the voidlife preserve, your mind creating food and idle amusement throughout. You, are somewhat more immortal than they by virtue of arcane secrets you have discovered through logical reasoning, but you are not fully cognizant of this yet. Perhaps it will become apparent in due time, but then again, perhaps not? What use is demigod status in a realm where your wishes come true by default?
I guess. . . . . . . I have died. . . . but there is no reason I cant be one of the Mog'ipper scientist who was given the power of the void, and learned how to use it to extend his own life. Also. . . he is researching the mysterious text sent to them from the gods by a mysterious . . . . means set out by the GM
I will call him: Kshiin'ch
be Kshiin'ch
[3] You are Kshiin'ch, the fiftieth most eminent scientist of the Mog'ipper, and the seventy-first most eminent immortal of the Mog'ipper. You currently have gotten your forelimbs on a sentence of divine language, transcribed from the will of a god - an important artifact, and also one that 49 other scientists among your race appear to be working on. It's quite the sensation among Mog'ipper circles.
Respawn as sentient spider with a dog insect companion named "Ruff"
[5] You are now one of the ambushing spiders, one of a number to reach maturity recently (on account of using the fruit of the tree to glean secrets rather than move around the universe at a whim, unlike many of your now-dead peers). Life near the legendary tree is rather good, and you seem to be greatly favored by the spider-guides for your ready grasp of demidivine magic. Even the chief guide has expressed interest in your progress. For your achievements thus far, you have been bequeathed a seeking insect of admirable breeding that you have dubbed the spider equivalent of Ruff (spider language is somewhat tricky, and mostly has the character of unintelligible squeaking).
I am the child of Seeches, created from the souls from the waterfall of blood l. Try to convert the maze planet to worship Seeches with respect. Kill all mortals who disobey.
(Seeches himself isn't dead yet, actually, though he has been demoted to a demigod. You can still play as something else if you want. Also, nobody's given any souls to the waterfall on account of it being in a banquet hall about as far from anywhere significant as possible, and also due to souls not being an implemented mechanic in the universe.)
[1] You, a member of the winged hivebeast race, have heard much of places far and wide, only recently having returned from the Tower of the Arcane to live among your sorcerous peers - you have brought with you reverence of Seeches, an almost zealous reverence, in fact. Upon arrival, you declare your intention to convert all to worship the distant demigod, or die by your hand. The other winged hivebeasts smile and go along with the idea, commencing plans to build a temple of Seeches at the first available opportunity - this takes a very short time, given the vast amounts of magic at the disposal of the Greater Hive. You are given a very special duty for this brilliant idea - to become a statue at the front door, which seems conspicuously barred and trapped beyond belief. Your consent, curiously, is not asked, and you, after being turned to stone and having a lot of your body cruelly torn and twisted by magic afterward to prevent successful revivification, are placed at the front door as a warning to all who would attempt religious agitation (that is to say, attempts to convert people to other religions than those of Tuk or the Thought Core). They even put a plaque at the feet of your horrific stony corpse explaining your heresy. A mischievous young hivebeast takes a bite out of the statue on the first week - the sorcerer lords, while agreeing that it's an improvement, promptly pass legislation to prevent defacement of your remains, as they serve as a moral lesson first and foremost, an aesthetic masterpiece secondarily, and not at all as a free opportunity for public snacking.
I am Gojeba, demigod student of the Tower of the Arcane at the center of the universe.
[4] You are Gojeba, a mostly unremarkable demigod among many in the Tower, though you do get invited to the more interesting demigod meetings once in a while. Currently the issue at hand appears to be the troubling way the gods seem to have run out of juice, and what this may imply on a broader scale. There is a lot of waffling, needless to say, though it's widely agreed that future projections may not be quite so bright, even with the Unmaker working somewhere out of sight. Though there's still a non-zero probability that things will work out fine, a particular advocate against the victory of entropy suggests, eliciting a sigh from the rest of the academics.
Am I still alive?
If so, Try to grow plants on New Tree.
[3] It takes you quite some time, constrained by the speed of light as you are, to reach the New Tree - thankfully, you were not dreadfully far away, a few light-years at most. Once there, you begin to promote the proliferation of epiphytes, which seems like a simple enough task. There's already some native Tuktan flora growing on it, and quite a bit of fauna has found a home on it as well.
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Topic: Inexorable: a Minimalist Demigod Game (Read 80780 times)