Turn 2A Great DelugeTalgoek of D3:[Doing It Yourself: 5]
First things first, you set your kit down at one of the edges of the plane and start singing the earthbones to life, assembling your manifold multifunctional Throne-bed with a bit of concerted effort, chanting details into its vague form as you stretch, bend and articulate it to better accommodate your form in a wide variety of potential configurations either ergonomic or outright comfortable. This kit seems unusually agreeable on that end, really, seemingly still willing to take instruction even after you've left it alone a while. Not just a foldout, but a customizable foldout? Practically a steal at what you got it for.
[Building A Hearth: 1]
Next, the Reliquary! You pour some of your creative impulse into fashioning a flame on the edge of the universe where you can put all of your relics (nothing discourages idle snacking like needing to go through literal fire to get at them), and with a cheery crackle you see it form and warm up the plane with the radiance of a newborn star. That is, until you hear a rather unfriendly hiss emanate from the nearby shadow, which appears to feel somewhat compromised by this light source. IT BURNS, you hear it hiss out as it starts to thrash about, spacetime starting to undulate as it wildly tries to extinguish the offending light. Wait, you say, you're sure you can talk this out. IT BURNS, it replies, seemingly not interested in conversation. The plane twitches as the shadow pulls at every edge and thrashes violently, and all your attempts to calm it seem to be in vain until it finally manages to fold the Reliquary into itself by accident, leaving a dark knot where your creation used to be. The plane's framework slowly settles down. You ask if it's feeling any better now, but get no response, though you do sense a vague persistent agitation in the plane's background.
[A New Rug: 6]
Leaving that alone for now, you bring into existence a dark blue rug of sublime craftsmanship depicting the anthropomorphized figure of mythical Death, a robed titan of assembled bones taken from forgotten gods, towering even in two-dimensional representation, lurking in the background of the weave, soulfully playing the interminably slow and moody saxophone solo that will end all possible worlds. It goes from edge to edge of its own will, music creeping into your perception as it does, intently but vainly trying to tie the plane together for a few moments before settling down near the shadow, trying to calm it with the grim inevitability of nonexistence.
TalgoekIntegrity: 5/5
Divine Power: 10
Allies:
Tamos
Plane D3- The plane twitches with remembered burning and imprinted screaming.
- A dark knot of spacetime holds the ashes of your late Reliquary. The plane seems reticent to let you touch it.
- The forlorn shadow of D3 decorates one edge of the plane, impossible to remove with ordinary cleaning techniques.
- Your portable Aetherpane senses several good spots for its placement for optimum connectivity to other dimensions. Most of them are aesthetically palatable.
- Your manifold throne hums in the way only induced earthbone can, awaiting instruction on what form will most adequately suit your brooding today.
- The Rug of Death has settled down near the shadow for now, its depiction of Death improvising some excellent doomjazz.
[A Solid Floor: 6]
You're not sure removing the scuffed bits of spacetime is going to be that easy, so you focus on the floor first of all, your touch bringing oak and refinement to the formerly blank plane, spreading right to the edges where the vault of heavens meets ground. Granted, it's not a terribly long distance. But the place does look very solid now. The floor plan needs more definition, though. You gaze at a newfound corner, and the oak petrifies into even tougher stone, spreading outward. Hm. How much of a workshop are you going to need? You're a busy fellow, after all. And there's a lot of equipment you could put in there... yeah, you guess you'll go with 7 meters on one side, then, and... yeah, just to be safe, you'll give it 8 on the other side. That gives you a good 56 square meters of workspace, which isn't really ideal, but you can work with that. And that leaves you with... well, that leaves you with relatively narrow strips of oak flooring at the edges. The stone floor makes the workshop look a bit too severe, you think as you consider how to fix this. And a little too imposing. You decide to compromise and make the whole floor of petrified oak (you just love the grain), but offset the severity with a friendly engraved floral pattern. You think that fixes things adequately.
[Workshop of the Gods: 4]
So instead of using a different floor to better define the workshop you just raise it a little in comparison to the rest of the plane, and fill it with a variety of mystical tools - resonating hammers, word-operated lathes, free-floating automatic chisels, jars of spontaneous arising, holy spirit alembics and other odds and ends that you foresee coming in handy if you need anything in particular built with a little less immediacy than just willing it to be like a less industrious god usually would. It does tend to be more economical if you know what you're doing, and you are kind of living on a budget.
[Livening Up The Plane: 6]
But that all does look a bit intimidating, so you do take the opportunity to also put a little life into the place. Doing a full sweep of the plane you point at the edges, and from the floor spring planters full of soil and seed, beautiful and aromatic flowers rising from each as you turn away. Soon your plane is a place of well-maintained greenery and life, the heady mix of tropical flowers going strangely well with the enthusiastic consideration of grisly violence that otherwise permeates the air, producing a delightful aroma of sweet temptation. The air
does feel a little thick now, though.
As for communication, you do need an Aetherpane to try and do anything of that sort. It is somewhat poor form to poach mortals from other planes without having the courtesy to at least show up there yourself, even if it is a terribly convenient thing to do, especially when mortals on a plane have the courtesy to set up non-specific cults trying to call up unorthodox deities.
TamosIntegrity: 5/5
Divine Power: 12
Allies:
Talgoek
Plane C4- An atmosphere of premeditated violence mingles with the heavy scent of assorted exotic flowers, giving rise to thick thoughts of murder at a botanical garden.
- A particular part of spacetime seems to have been lightly wounded by divine weaponry, which is a little unsightly to behold if not the sort of thing to deprive a god of their power deposit for.
- The ground is made of petrified oak, covered in elaborate and beautiful flower patterns.
- A workshop filled with assorted divine tools dominates one corner of the plane, humming with potential.
- Planters filled with exotic flowers line the edges of the plane, filling the air with exotic aromas.
[Space Is An Ocean: 1]
You can hardly call yourself a drowned god without something to perpetually drown yourself (and others!) in. Salt water collects at your feet, rising up to hip level shortly, and rising further still... but at an increasingly slower rate. It becomes quite an effort to make it rise further than your chin, let alone straight up to vault. You're fairly sure your power works a little better than that, mostly... experimentally you try and stop creating salt water for a moment, and with dawning disappointment you notice it starting to drain. You find this quite suspect, as your previous understanding of spacetime did lead you to believe it could at least hold water. It quickly drains back to about chest level, then more slowly down to your hips, and then finally back down to knee level, draining very slowly from there on in.
[An Insulating Layer: 1]
You wonder if you should have started on the ground first. You try to see if that fixes the problem, rendering the plane's surface into nice and murky muck, a common feature of the more feared pools of the world. It mixes with the water very readily, creating a rather thick mixture of salty mud. This
does address the draining issue, you notice, seeing how the newly thickened suspension has trouble draining, but on the other hand you are now standing in what amounts to the Elemental Plane of Muck, minus anything alive dwelling in it apart from yourself. It's kind of dank, you suppose, and you probably could drown in it if you passed out or something. And you suppose it might be satisfying to slosh around in it, particularly if you pop some reeds down, give it more of a boggy feel, you know?
You set down your Reliquary in the middle of this small plane, and watch it float on the thick muck. Just to be safe you anchor it to the local heaven with the handy chain it's got attached to it.
ZelifanIntegrity: 5/5
Divine Power: 10
Allies:
Sikre, God of Fishing
Plane C3- The plane has been left blissfully free of obvious evidence by its previous inhabitant, the spacetime quite spotless and ready for suggestion for the most part.
- The floor of the plane is filled with muck up to your knees. It bestows a dank and boggy ambiance you suppose you could build upon.
- Your empty Reliquary floats on the muck, attached to the heavens by a grim-looking iron chain.
[A Simple Start: 4]
Not one to get overly elaborate in your designs, you will your very own luxurious Bone Throne into existence as you designate a particular corner for all your brooding needs. It menaces with its excellent leather upholstery and helpfully anonymous origin, rising as a hard and unshakable fixture for you to happily occupy for as long as you might possibly need to sort out all of your troubles. It stands exquisitely on nothing in particular, a foundation all by itself. You think you really ought to cover it up, though Wouldn't want anybody coming in here to behold your Bone Throne without at least some buildup.
[Self-Storage Solutions: 4]
That done, you set down a clear glass 4 by 4 meter enclosure in another area you designate as the other corner, filling it with low-grade soil, unconvincing plastic plant life, a sun lamp that emits a lovely persistent electric buzz and an imitation tiny castle you can rampage toward and even tiny, actually screaming models of puny mortals you can step on with only minor discomfort. And, if you're feeling bored, also a fake dinosaur that's more your size if you want to fight it out with one of those and maybe smack the castle with its rubbery bulk. Tiamat's gonna love this, you're pretty sure.
[Sinister Snack Bars: 3]
Furthering the theme, you bring into existence an empty cardboard box with a little bit of tape still on it from a never-performed past delivery. It contains warnings for fragility of contents, harmfulness if swallowed and the multitudinous dangers of packing peanuts, which you proceed to fill the Reliquary with. You intensely cross out the plausible-sounding address stamp you conjured upon it and write "FEED ME" next to the dark spot in permanent marker.
XenronackIntegrity: 5/5
Divine Power: 9
Allies:
Tiamat, Goddess of Evil Dragons
Plane D4- The previous tenant's hot pink, heavily customized Aetherpane hangs in the fourth corner, going about an aether trawl of indiscernible purpose.
- The plane smells like Arcadian flower-scented air freshener, lingering from some previous cleanup campaign.
- Your magnificent Bone Throne graces one corner of the plane, looking very inviting as well as perhaps unfashionably risque out in the open.
- In the other corner stands your lovely glass terrarium, filled with convincingly cheap props and slightly-too-bright lighting that are sure to provide a good time.
- In the other other corner is your plausibly repurposed cardboard Reliquary, currently filled with completely inedible packing peanuts.
[Gift of Fertility: 6]
A wave of humus rises at your call, coating the ground from here to the near horizon, a fresh and earthy smell rising from it as you inhale, feeling the cool dirt between your toes as you walk around, the layer thickening and settling with what feel like soft breaths, your power bestowing upon it a subtle animate quality, the ground stirring with thoughts akin to those of an earthworm, mixing and stretching as it explores its new confines in newborn confusion. You whisper gently for it to settle down, and it follows your instruction as best it can, scratching against the horizon lightly as it wonders if it could perhaps expand even further.
As the soil settles down you carry in your ancient reliquary and set it down somewhere along the plane's edge. As it feels suitably natural (being your creation just as it is), the earth welcomes it openly, sinking it slightly into itself for appropriate security, then blanketing it with another wave for good measure, giving it the look of a cache of buried treasure.
[Atlantean Labors: 1]
Your old Throne, meanwhile, is still in the Connective Plane outside, fully boxed and ready for deployment. Or it would be were it not currently wedged in the perhaps ungenerous amount of space the Connective Plane affords. You try to move it one way, but it fails to budge. The same happens when you attempt to move it in the other direction, or even twist it in any particular manner, which does to you raise the question of how it could have been put here in the first place. You suspect you'd find out if you tracked down the messenger god who so kindly assisted in the effort, but catching one of those is a godly task in its own right.
AmarantaIntegrity: 5/5
Divine Power: 11
Allies:
Hassha, God of Silence
Atian the Elephantman God
Plane B1- The spacetime of the plane feels respectably aged and seasoned, a remnant of the snake god of time that lived here previously.
- The ground of the plane is fertile humus blessed with a wormlike intellect and rudimentary animation, seeking to feel whatever treads upon it until it is suitably occupied with something else.
- Your ancient and glorious Throne is currently lodged in the Connective Plane just outside, somewhat complicating traffic as well as being dreadfully inconvenient.
- Your Reliquary is half-buried along the edge of the plane, tempting would-be treasure seekers.
[Whole World In His Hands: 2]
A sweep of your massive hand turns the blankness of an uninhabited plane into splendid creation, providing bountiful and rich soil on which grows the greenest of grasses, sprinkled with valuable minerals and metals where appropriate! Or, to be more precise, you make a nice lawn with some rocks in it. This isn't really the kind of space you'd be able to comfortably make a world that isn't scaled for an average inhabitant size of less than one inch. But that's beside the point, of course, the point being that this lawn is kind of nice.
Or was nice, at least, until a torrential downpour started for some reason, leaving you knee-deep in what you quickly determine to be saltwater. It takes a few minutes to fully drain, whereupon you discover the swift and utter annihilation of your nice new lawn by mixture of drowning and merciless osmosis. The sight is almost heartbreaking.
[The Sacred Mount: 3]
Not to be dissuaded (salt-adapted grass is a thing, after all, and even if it weren't you could make some, being a god and all), you raise the middle of the plane gently to produce a reasonable miniature hill, about a meter tall at its apex, which puts it well into natural end table territory. You decide to use the space for a great and wondrous palace.
[Palace of Kings: 3]
It's a tiny palace, of course. You can't really think of a good way to build a palace in here without sacrificing either size or dignity, and given the purpose of a palace to begin with you decide to make a model one to start with, fashioning an imperious, if tiny structure that could no doubt house quite a lot of tiny inhabitants, or a few very important ones, placing it at the top of the hill and decorating it with statues of elephants, elaborate wooden arcades and elegant curved roofs, the mystical complex standing forbiddingly empty at the top of your sacred little hill.
Now you just have to figure out what you'd want to put inside it. Maybe you could turn it into a Reliquary. You didn't really make an internal floor plan, so there's space in there. And in the hill, too!
Atian the Elephantman GodIntegrity: 5/5
Divine Power: 9
Allies:
Amaranta
Plane C2- Your roommate currently is in a state of existential flux. She is likely going to use this fact to mess with you somehow. That is, if she actually exists.
- Your Aetherpane awaits your password as well as a suitable spot for aetheric connection.
- Your lawn filled with rocks is dead. Murdered! And someone's responsible!
- A model palace stands in the middle of the room atop your sacred hill, awaiting purpose or at slightly less damp and saltiness.
By the way, your Aetherpanes, Reliquaries and Thrones are fully up to you to describe before you make them if you want to. Gives me a better idea of what they're supposed to look like.
Also, for better visualization of the interrelationships of the planes see the player list.
Finally, you can address your needs before the maintenance turn if you foresee not being in your plane by the time it rolls around. If you do not, and are in someone else's plane, you had best hope they can and would be able to help with that.
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Topic: Flat Earth: Turn 7, A Night Out In The Multiverse (Read 5744 times)