As the Gods and Goddesses speak to one another, a brief sense of Loss comes over them. The World Tree seems to shrivel, the Mortals feel a fleeting sense of tragedy, and the waters of the Oceans themselves seem to fade, for the faintest of moments. A massive rift in the Void opens, and from it spills out a vast cloud of sand, among it floats what appears to be a desiccated corpse, clothed in eons-old patchwork rags. The corpse, radiating with Divine Power, lifts his hands, and the rift seal shut. His eyes close in concentration, and the sand cloud spirals outward.
As the corpse gestures, the sands coalesce into one vast spherical cloud. His fists close in anger, his face grimaces with hatred, and the sand cloud forcefully slams together into a sphere. The corpse murmurs vulgar curses in an unimaginably ancient tongue, and with a faint scream of agony, the sands are bound together, forming a small, barren planet. The corpse observes his work, finds it to be lacking, and with the wave of his hand, the planet is given an atmosphere, a molten core, and some minuscule deposits of non-precious ore far beneath the crust.
He gazes upon the planet, and nods his head, as if confirming something to himself. He then sees the World Tree, his entire being ripples with disgust, yet he remains silent. The corpse gazes upon his planet, and utters a word. The planet shoots outward towards the World Tree at a rapid speed, but a moment before impact flies to the side, and enters an oblong orbit around the World Tree. His eyes gleam with twisted pride in his work.
The being speaks, and all Gods and Goddesses hear him. His voice, cracked and raspy from millennia of disuse, echoes into the very being of those listening. His speech menaces with hidden danger, not unlike a that of a scorpion, and a vile undercurrent mars the already curt, contemptuous words.
"Gods. Goddesses. Other Divines. I am Fenez, Lord of the Desert, Harbinger of Desolation, The Parched One. Know this. My Wrath shall come upon those among you who interfere with any Aspect of my Creation. This World is my creation, and mine alone. It's pristine sands shall not touch the Bark of your World Tree, nor any of It's Branches. It Is Independent of all Divines apart from Me. I shaped it of my own Essence, Independent of Your Efforts.
I will speak to those among You who wish to come to know me better in private. Any offers to join a Pantheon, or collaborate in a scheme, shall also be private. I do not wish to earn Your Ire just yet, Gods, Goddesses, and Other Divines. I hope that we can achieve a mutually beneficial relationship. I leave You now."
With that said, Fenez halts his tongue. Looking at the small Desert Planet, he finds it to be far too sparse for his liking. The surface of the Planet is near scorching, with heat from the Molten Core, and the Planet is bereft of all but the bare minimum of moisture. The Parched One spits on the surface of the Sands, and from the Spit comes the first life on the sphere. Adapted to withstand the heat and near lack of water, the ecosystem is very sparse, it's Animals are hardened, selfish, and opportunistic predators, and it's Plants are few, rare, thorny, often poisonous, and require almost no moisture to survive. Fenez looks at his works, and finds them to be suitable for the time being.
"I name this Planet Fenetch, after It's Creator."
Thinking to himself, he feels that the sphere needs something, more to be truly whole. Reaching into his very Being, he rips out a part of it, swirling, blackened with age and hate, it radiates with depression, and a sense of longing that could never be truly filled. The Harbinger of Desolation spreads his black fog across his sphere, and with a hundred simultaneous whispers, brings the fog to life. The beings shaped from the fog are Humanoid. They are extremely thin, adapted to the heat, grayed as charcoal, and are beautiful in a way beyond words. Their eyes are strange, the pupils and iris are as yellow as an egg yolk, and the whites are black.
Their teeth are sharped and startlingly white, and their canine teeth are elongated into fangs. They have solid white hair, and often shave it entirely, though some choose to grow it long. The creatures are extremely agile, and lithe, and they can wield almost any weapon with practiced ease. However, their thin frames render them weaker than others of comparable size. These beings need very little food or water to live, but that which they consume tastes like ashes to them. They live short, hard lives, and can only survive half a century at the most. They have two genders, and reproduce much like Humans do, but their young have a roughly one in three chance of being stillborn.
The Mortals have a feeling of emptiness deep within themselves, and their negative emotions are heightened, causing them to feel loss, hatred, and rage much keener than other beings. Due to their harsh environment, they live in small nomadic tribes and frequently do battle with other tribes over resources and petty disputes. The beings lack an immortal soul, and simply cease to exist upon their death, regardless of this, their ability to worship is the same as that of other mortals. Their culture is primitive and barbaric, to them personal belongings, mercy and honor are utterly alien concepts. Despite this, they adhere to a strict code of laws concerning the punishment of criminals, the punishment almost always exceeds the crimes committed, and many tribal shamans are also adept torturers. In war, they tend to expend most of their efforts toward the sabotage of their opponent and resort to ambush tactics and guerrilla warfare when faced with a foe. In individual combat, they are swift, efficient, and brutal. All of them have an instinctive knowledge of The Parched One's Existence and a deep understanding of his Philosophy.
Upon the creation of the mortals, Fenez appears before them all, and speaks to each of them individually.
"My Children. You were formed from my being, and when You perish, You shall return to me. I placed You onto Fenetch to struggle, and through Your struggle, become more than a mere part of me. Teach my words to Your Offspring. Always remember that true gain is had only through true loss. As You were formed from me, I name You of me. I name You, The Fezethi."
The Parched One uses 5 Essence to create Fenetch, a very small, (astronomically) near-scorching, extremely inhospitable, desert Sphere orbiting The World Tree. Fenez calls it a Planet, but it's more the size of a Moon for now.
The Parched One uses 5 Essence to give Fenetch a sparse ecosystem of Animals and Plants adapted to it's Climate.
Finally, Fenez reaches into himself, and uses 9 Crux to create The Fezethi, a species of Mortals living on Fenetch. They are extremely agile, naturally skilled at combat, very attractive, and require very little food or water to survive. They have a high infant mortality rate, are short-lived, are very weak, carnivorous, violent, and have a Mortal Soul that ceases to exist entirely after their death. The Fezethi have an instinctive knowledge of The Parched One's existence, and have a deep innate understanding of Fezen's Philosophy.
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Topic: Theater of the Void: IC (22/⊕֍࿃) Tick 3: The Race is on! (Read 28112 times)