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[Digital Hellhound]

She took her first step on Aether. The ground felt cold to her feet. This was a good world, a world full of living beings and possibilities.
She was called Niande, and she was the Tenth of the Muses. The journey here had taken her long, but it seemed like a good place. She had come here with the Second, who had headed for another part of the ring, but she still felt her presence in the back of her mind.
Niande made her way down the path faintly visible in the crystalline ground, stepping carefully to avoid stepping on the abundant plantlife covering it. She had spotted some sentient beings nearby on the way here, powerful, not fully mortal minds, but had decided to avoid them. Mortals always had so much more potential.
Large, crystalline birds stared at her from the branch of one the plants. They were sentient as well, but flew away as she approached. Still, there were many more beautiful minds on this world, and she had no intention of giving up so easily.

Niande made her way through the rest of the forest quickly. There was a village up ahead, full of humans and more sentient humanoids. The forest path joined another,
dug into the ground and guarded by lanterns bringing welcome light to the world. She could heard the villagers already and began seeking for a good mind.
It did not take long for her to find one. A young elf, full of ideas and wild bursts of creativity.

She would go to him tonight, and grant her gift.

[Fortis]

Quietly, Luna walked over the crystal sands of Aether, pondering what she should do about the situation she was in. Every time the gods had struck at Astra’ath, the corrupter had survived, but countless mortals had perished in the battle. This would not do. She couldn’t let this continue. Yet, if left to its own devices, would not Astra’ath destroy and devour all whom she cherished? Should a few mortals be killed, so that the many might live? No matter how she thought about it, she could not justify it. In her heart, she knew that no mortal should die for the wars of gods. She could not aid in such destructive attacks on Astra’ath.

And there were other issues troubling her. She was trying to make a world of peace, and despite her efforts, the world still seemed to draw those who wished to disrupt the peace. Static defenses were helpful, yet she could not anticipate each and every possible means of reaching Aether. Nor could she be on hand to quell every threat that came. She needed help, a mind that could respond to threats and defeat them. She would make Aether itself into a guardian.

Her form became immaterial, part of the very darkness of the night, and she slipped into the shadows of Aether itself. She flew into the very essence of Aether, and lightly touched it. She blessed it with a mind, capable of thought and speech. She gave it a will, and the courage to face what dangers may come. She gave it senses to perceive the world around her, and the universe beyond. She gave it her love for the people, so it would strive to defend them. She gave it control over the land of Aether, over the dim star Maia, over the barrier of space, and over the children of Maia circling the world. She gave it the powers of speech, and the ability to speak to minds and hear thoughts. She made Aether itself into a thinking being, into a demigod. Luna waited as Aether awoke for the first time.

“…I feel you. Who are you?” Aether asked, the words sounding like the whispers of a little girl in Luna’s mind.

“I’m Luna, goddess of the night, of dreams, and of peace.” Luna answered. “I created you.”

“Created me? What for?” Aether asked, still sounding timid, but also curious.

“I created you to aid me in the defense of Aether, and to be a companion in the lonely task of creation. I have created many races, and I cherish them, but they are brief creatures. They die, while I endure.”

“Oh… I can feel them too, up on the surface. They’re tiny…” Aether said. After a moment, something like a giggle echoed in Luna’s mind. “They’re so cute! I love them! So, you want me to help protect them?”

“Yes, my child,” Luna answered.

“Okay, I’ll help. But how?” Aether asked.

“You have the stars in the sky, and the barrier of space at your command. As well as the lands of Aether itself,” Luna said. “But I have a gift for you, that will aid your task.” Luna again touched Aether’s essence, imparting her power into her. She gave her the ability to create wards, barriers of energy resembling the facets of a gem. “With my gift, you will be able to shield our people from danger, and to trap foes who mean them harm. Use it wisely, dear Aether.”

<><><><>

Elsewhere, a small Elysian cautiously approached the mighty Ghernaton, in many ways Luna’s opposite, yet whom she counted as friend. “Strong Ghernaton,” The Elysian began, “My mistress has a request of you. In the last battle against Astra’ath, Luna evacuated many of the living beings from the nameless world to the peaceful world of Aether. Yet, one of the races, the Orcs, do not desire peace, and constantly stir up trouble by hunting Rhea and the Aether dragons, or attacking settlements of Elves, halflings, dwarves, and men. Many lust for battle and war. Luna believes that your world of battle would serve them better than the shimmering lands. With your permission, she will send them to you.”

Act 1: Luna created a mind for Aether, making the planet into a demigod. She has control over Aether, Maia, the barrier of space, and Maia’s children. She sounds like a young girl when she speaks.

Act 2: Luna gave Maia the ability to create wards, or barriers of energy resembling a carved gem’s surface.

[Iituem]

Seasons passed.  Fortune, or perhaps even the touch of the divine, favoured that first farmer who had taken Nemani's offer - when the lambing season had passed, fully seven had survived its trials.  The farmer paid Gheronaton's interest in his herd and ended the season with a herd half again as large as it had begun, and a third of it his own.  News soon spread about his fortune and it was not long before Gheronaton's shrine became a hub for borrowing and lending, and even becoming a sort of unofficial marketplace, with the temple taking its 'interest' in every transaction.  Nemani entered into a sort of partnership with some of the largest flock owners, and some of the field owners, borrowing their flocks, land and produce and lending them out to others at higher rates of return.  Steadily, the influence of the temple continued to grow.

The sheer volume of transactions and loans began to become burdensome to track, however.  One of Nemani's partners in business, a farmer named Ruk who was slowly growing wealthier from his partnership, questioned him on how he managed to remember it all.

"To be honest, I've just started making little drawings," Nemani admitted.

"Drawings?  Like kill records with hunters?" Ruk asked.

"Exactly, but rather than recording kills I've started drawing little pictures of the number of sheep borrowed and owed."  He gestured to a number of pieces of bark, carved with tiny drawings of sheep and sheaves of wheat.  Ruk picked up one of the bark pieces and looked at the drawings.

"Nice artwork," he said, "but you look like you got a bit tired of drawing a sheep every time.  On some of these you've just drawn a circle and three lines.  Same for the wheat, it's just a line with some arrows on top."

"I have a lot of those to record," Nemani groaned.  "It's close enough for me to remember by.  Frankly, if I get much more of this I'm going to have to start giving out the bark just so there's a record on both sides.  Did you know some people are trying to trade the debt?  I mean, not the animals, the actual debt to the temple itself?"

"Let them," said Ruk.  "It doesn't really matter who owns the debt, so long as it gets paid, right?"

"And so long as they're able to pay it," Nemani pointed out.  "But if I start doing that, keeping these records will take up all of my time."

"Then get someone else to do it," said Ruk.  "Pay them a steady meal and a place out of the rain, set them some rules on what the little shapes mean and let them take care of the bark-work.  There's wealth to be made, here.  Do you know we're better off now than before you got here?"

"We've had some good seasons," said Nemani.  Ruk shook his head.

"More than that.  People have more to work for.  Before they had the loans to think about, if someone grew some extra crops or birthed an extra lamb, they'd just eat it as a feast.  Now, they save it to repay, or even to loan out themselves.  More is being produced."

"I notice that most of that is going to us," Nemani pointed out, "and the men I've had to reclaim the temple's debts from have not always held such an optimistic view."

"Nevertheless," Ruk insisted, "we are as a tribe better off than before.  We have enough to trade for other things.  Like it or hate it, the debt makes us strive.  So what I say to you is, hire someone to make the drawings and stick to selling the dream - and the debt - to people.  It's helping us all out in the end."

"You know something?  I think that's a brilliant idea."

Nemani picked up one of the bark shards and began working out the simplest way to represent a sheep... and maybe a better way to represent five sheep than just drawing the sheep five times...

In his mind, a chord sung.


Nemani has invented Accountancy from Usury.  [divine]
The growing wealth of Nemani's shrine has increased the influence of Gheronaton on Aether.


[That's probably all the divine power Destiny has for this turn.  Remaining actions will either be completely mortal-dependent, or require energy drained as debt from the turn to come.]

[Lordinquisitor]

A smile appeared on Gheronatons face. He hadn`t wasted thoughts on the orcs until now, but they seemed like a race that he could enjoy. Warlike, brave and brutal. He needed not much convincing. "Tell your mistress that i will gladly take those Orcs. If needed i could lend her some warriors to gather and escort those orcs to incendium, though maybe she has already another idea how to deal with them.
It`s always a pleasure to help."

[Digital Hellhound]

Coradin returned back to the Palace with the gift from Mania. It was a powerful thing, but he could not fully trust the mad-god's word.
The warship was drifting around in orbit of Natus, now powered down. Now that the Stone was safe, it could be put to use.
Coradin found the Instrument of War's core and placed the Stone inside. It now served as a secondary supply of power, not just an emergency one.
Then...
Smaller copies of the warship began to form in his hands, weaker, and lacking the amount of weapons of the Instrument. They fell into position
around the Instrument, and Coradin took crews for them from the Palace. The Instrument would not have to go to war alone.


Coradin places the Stone inside the Instrument of War to act as another core to the ship

Coradin creates support frigates for the Valkyries

---

The elf was already asleep, but that was no problem. Niande placed her hand on the forehead of the sleeping man, allowing her power to fill his mind. He would have strange dreams throughout the night, but in the morning, would wake up feeling... inspired, and be capable of making anything he wanted.
She did not know what the elf would create, only that it would be magnificient. That was part of the fu...

Niande realized she was now staring at the ceiling of the small room. What... then she felt it. A massive, powerful presence, one that had not been there before. It was all around her, coming from the very ground itself. The world itself had awoken. It was a vast mind, and a sentient one.

Niande walked out of the elf's house and to the crystalline ground. She thought about giving her gift to this mind, but perhaps it was not the best of ideas. No, she would move on now, and seek more suitable minds. The lantern-lit path would lead her to another village, most likely. Perhaps even a larger settlement.
Niande made her way out of the village and into the wilds beyond.

[Iituem]

The temple flourished, fattened with the wealth of finance.  Literally fattened, as the simple wooden shrine had been expanded into a longhouse, the largest building in the village.  Nemani felt a certain pride at this, but also trepidation.  What was the point of building such things if the village was going to move to a different place in a few years?  Already the grass here was thinning from the impact of so many sheep grazing it - especially with the prosperity experienced by Nemani's tribe.  Where the farmers grew crops, the soil was beginning to weaken, the health of it drained out into wheat and barley.  Nemani had heard of places where there were buildings tall as hills - the homes of the orcs, or at least the place where they returned to.  Compared to them, his temple was naught.  The thought bugged him, like a humming in his head, but he set it to one side for now.  There were other things to worry about.

The orcs, in fact.  Prosperity brought envy, and the long-toothed warriors had finally ceased harassing the outlying farms and struck at the village itself.  Nemani and some of his more devoted followers had fought them off, but it had been close.  Three men had died and some were wounded, including those of his flock.  He needed a better way to defend the village if he intended to keep it.  But then, keeping it was the problem...

Nemani's reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Ruk, who was wearing a new accoutrement - a necklace of polished shells.  They reflected pleasantly in the light through the temple hall's wind-doors.

"That's a pleasant string," Nemani mentioned.  "And one of many I've seen you wear.  How does your wife find time to make such things?"

"She doesn't," replied Ruk.  "I get them from a fishergirl who catches these little shelled fish in the lakes.  Paid her with some grain.  You know there's a tribe with a way of storing it so it keeps longer?"

"Pottery," said Nemani absentmindedly, looking at the shell necklace.

"Oh, you know about it?" asked Ruk.  "It's the very next thing, they say."

"It's quite an old thing, actually.  Comes from a tribe led by a fellow named Curio.  We... don't get along.  Why buy that thing, though?  I mean, it's pretty, but shouldn't you be saving that grain for the leaner seasons?"

"We have," said Ruk.  "I mean, we do, but we still have more.  My family's done well by you, Nemani, a lot of us have.  Eventually you get to the point where you might as well buy pretty things just to show that you can afford you.  And let me tell you, people treat you with a lot more respect when you're wearing it."

"I suppose people prefer to listen to those who can show they've been successful."

"That, and the girls love it.  That fishergirl, she didn't just give me the necklace-"

"Okay, thank you," said Nemani quickly, rising a hand.  "I've heard more than enough about what you get up to while you're away from your wife."  He stroked his bare chin and looked at Ruk's beard.  Why couldn't he grow a beard?  He wanted a beard, damn it.

Beards.  Beards and shells.  Beards and shiny things.

"Dwarves," said Nemani.

"Dwarves?" asked Ruk.

"Yes, dwarves.  What do you know about them?"

"Short, like beards - especially the women - and like digging at things.  Kind of a holy mission, like the elders say the god who created the old world gave us, except instead of going forth and multiplying it's digging down and, uh, digging."

"How long do they stay in one place?"

"Long as they can," said Ruk with a shrug.  "We had some here a number of seasons back, left shortly before you arrived.  Camped close to the mountains, kept digging away at this shiny yellowish stuff, copper I think it was.  Packed up and left when they ran out of food - they don't farm, see?"

"As do we, and we do farm.  Why do villages keep moving, Ruk?"

"Guess the ground's only got so much good in it.  You have to find a place that's got life left in it when you use up what's here."

"But the good comes back, doesn't it?" asked Nemani.  "I've seen places where villages used to be, the ground gets better with time."  Ruk shrugged.

"If it does, it doesn't do it quick enough.  Not if you want to grow enough food to do well for yourself."

"Hmm," mused Nemani, then shook his head.  Another thing to deal with later.  "Back to the dwarves.  I've seen copper before, on Incendium.  There were a race of strange things, metal men created by Gheronaton.  The ferals there told me they worked with copper, did something to it to make it harder or better in some way.  But copper's still pretty hard and it's easier to work than stone.  How hard do you reckon it would be to make copper axes?"

"You'd have to ask a flint chipper," said Ruk.  "But if it's as good as you say, I reckon so.  Why?"

"Because orcs don't have copper, but they do have better weapons than spears and flint axes, and we need an advantage.  And the dwarves need food.  And we have plenty of food, don't we?  Tell me, Ruk, how do you feel about getting away from your wife for a bit longer?"

"Always a pleasure," grinned Ruk.  "Sometimes two at once."  Nemani winced.

"Then I have a job for you, and I'll cut you in on the returns.  I'd like you to scout out a few dwarven camps, try and see if you can convince any of them to set up site back at the old copper source they found and dig it out.  Offer to trade food for copper, and any other goods they can make that we can't."

"Sure thing, holiness," said Ruk.  "Tell you what, I'll see if I can't find that Curio guy's tribe as well, see if they're up for trading."

"I'd really rather we didn't have anything to do with him," groaned Nemani.

"Yeah, but those pots would sure come in useful.  Even if they won't let on how to do it, I'm sure they'd want to trade the extra food - and the copper, if things go well with those dwarves."

"Ugh, fine.  Take a couple of acolytes with you for protection, okay?  Safe journeys, Ruk.  Gheronaton's hand guide you."

"And you, holiness," said Ruk with a bow of the head.  He turned and left, whistling.  Nemani frowned and looked back up at the ceiling of the hall.  Building... that was the problem.  Finding a better way of building.


Nemani sends Ruk as an ambassador to the dwarven tribes and to Curio's tribe to try and arrange trade routes between them.  [mortal]

[How this turns out may depend on the other Gods, or at least on Caesar's decision.]

[forsaken1111]

Astra'ath looked upon the ocean, now teeming with all manner of life.

It was not enough.

We require sentience, substance, emotion.

And so it began to change.

Inside its great bulk, chambers shifted and moved. Vats filled with strange chemicals, biological servitors carried nutrients and containers of undifferentiated flesh. The vats began to boil as nutrients were pumped in, chemicals combined, and the flesh began to change. Guided by a terrible intellect, millions of beings began to take shape according to a predetermined pattern. Each was given a slight genetic variation, enough to ensure a stable breeding population and gene-base, and all were completed within weeks.

The first seeds of the new world were released into the waters. Small bulbous seed pods floated gently to the surface, bursting open in the wan light and quickly growing. A chain of islands grew rapidly, filtering nutrients from the ocean and drinking in the dim light. Their surfaces hardened, grew foliage of their own, and they became the first land of this new world. Massive tendrils anchored them to the broken sea floor, and upon their surfaces the first sea elves were born.

They came into the world with full knowledge of their existence, and basic survival skills. They were charged with the keeping of the island chain, overseeing its growth and ensuring its health.

First they clothed themselves, finding a plant which spun like flax and formed a tough, water-resistant cloth. Next they discovered the bounty of the sea, and began to harvest its wealth for food and building material. Small shacks constructed from dried kelp and wood began to spring up along the shore, and Astra'ath was pleased. They were progressing quickly under Its psychic tutelage.

On another portion of the Eye's unending ocean, a great undersea dome rose from the seafloor. It was constructed of clear diamond, and within it woke the world's first miners and industrialists. Dwarves, remade from templates taken in the last few moments of the Nameless World's death. They awoke and did not know fear, for they were home. This was Norogahn. This was home.

Even before the last dwarf had awakened, the first had selected a pick from the rack nearby and begin digging. Its keen senses could feel metals down in the stone, and it knew they would need such to build a city. More and more Dwarves awoke, all with different skills, and each went to his task with steadfast determination. It was not long before they had explored the city, and all that their god had provided. Great locks held submersibles crafted from an unknown material which allowed them access to the surface, and massive unknowable machinery maintained their great dome's air supply and filtered their water.

Seeing the bounty of the ocean outside the dome, the Dwarves looked at one another and silently agreed. It was all there for the taking. Several of them began work on rudimentary harpoons.

Astra'ath watched, and It was pleased. It turned Its gaze to the third race.

Upon the surface of the ocean, a hundred small constructions had appeared, ramshackle things known as atolls. Within these, humans awoke for the first time since the cataclysm which claimed most of their number. Each atoll was a small isolated community, a village unto itself, and had material piled atop it sufficient to construct shelter and basic necessities. No atoll was self-sufficient, each lacking specific necessities by design and each aware of the other's existence. This would force them to interact and trade for survival, with each other and with the other races of the world.

Finally, a nemesis was needed. For this, Astra'ath had raised the spectre of the Ork... but with a few revisions.

Fungal spores were released from the ocean floor, and they drifted with the currents. Here and there, a fish swallowed one or three, and quickly died.

The corpse distended, bloated from fungal growth, and within a few weeks an Ork burst forth. It was a creature of strength and rage, fully adapted to an aquatic world. Its mind was twisted with an incurable insanity which drove it to find and feed upon the other races. Its intelligence was intact, however, and not overridden by this madness. It knew that simple frontal assaults would be suicidal, and time was on its side.

It moved off to find its brothers and form a Horde.

Astra'ath creates the races of the world, and gives them each a home.

[dragnar]

As Dragnar walked the many halls of the Library, he noticed a new wing had formed. It was still small, but the library seemed to think it would soon be deserving of it's own section., and there was much more activity from the librarians in the area than anywhere else so perhaps it was right. The label was simple: The Hall of Commerce.

"Interesting... the mortals shouldn't have been able to advance this quickly without intervention.  Not after the stagnation they have been experiencing."

Reading through the books rapidly, Dragnar's interest grew, for there was evidence of intervention... but not from any sort of god that he had ever seen. It seemed centered around an elf, Nemani, but he could not discern the source of the power.

"Whatever is happening here, it will bring the people of the planet together bit by bit... Heh, this should keep the librarians quite busy. Finally, the mortals begin to grow on their own, learning instead of begging the gods for help!"

Dragnar travels to the resting place of Mania's Fork and sends it to the center of Nemani's shrine, along with a book detailing the creation of steel and a message written in the air above them.

"You should have more use for these than I do. And remember, Gheronaton is not the only god in this world, or the only one who knows the secrets of metals."

[Iituem]

Nemani was greeted with a mixture of awe and paranoia when he returned to the temple hall that day.  Half of his following had bent knee to the strange message written in fire above the smoothed stone that served as Gheronaton's altar, the other had their spears readied and pointed at the message in case it turned out to be a foe - or possibly divine judgement.  Given Nemani's secret lack of faith, he found himself edging toward caution.

"It's a sign from Gheronaton!" said one of the parishioners as they saw him enter.

"It says it's not!" shouted one of the soldiers.

"It talks?" asked Nemani, looking at the odd squiggles burning in the air.

"Not like we do, but...  look at it, holiness.  Just look at it."

Nemani studied the squiggles.  As his eyes moved over them, words seemed to suggest themselves in his mind.  He frowned, then looked over it again.  The same message.  He looked at a specific squiggle - one word from that message.

"'You should have more use for these than I do,'" Nemani read.  "'And remember, Gheronaton is not the only god in this world, or the only one who knows the secrets of metals.'"

As soon as it had been read out, the flames flashed and dissipated, burning the image of the words onto the inner eyes of those watching.  Nemasni blinked a few times, startled, until he could see again, then noticed the pair of objects lying on the altar.  In true human nature, one of the parishioners immediately tried to make a grab for them, but was manhandled into the corner and kicked into submission by the guards.  Temple of Gheronaton, after all.  Nemani approached the altar and, thinking of metals, beckoned the flint-chipper who made most of their weapons.  He studied the strange metal fork and the leather-bound tome.

"Thirk," he said, "are you seeing the same thing I am?"  He nodded to the front of the book, which had a short series of squiggles pressed into the thick leather.

"It says something to me, like the fire spirit said," said Thirk.  "A name, maybe, but I don't know what it means.  'Ste-ol?'"

"So who is Steol, and why is he important to us?" wondered Nemani.  He tried to pick the book up by its edge, but found that it opened up, revealing dozens of thin sheets of paper, all covered in further squiggles.  Some were obviously detailed drawings, while others were the more abstract squiggles seen in the message of fire.  He flipped it to what he assumed was the front page (as the very last page on the other side was blank) and passed it over to Thirk.  "Does this say anything to you?"

Thirk picked up the book and read.

"'Steol is an alloy consisting mostly of iyon, with a cahban content between nought point two and two point one persont, depending on the grade.'  I don't know what any of that means, especially who this 'persont' is."

"No, but I've heard of alloys before," said Nemani.  "The ferals told me that the Ironborn, the metal men of Gheronaton, were made from alloys and that's why they were so strong.  Supposedly an alloy is a metal, made from the transformation of other metals.  Perhaps this book contains the secrets of how to create one.  Perhaps that's what this 'Steol' is.  Hm."  He snapped his fingers and gave an order to his book-keeper, who brought him a fresh piece of bark ready for recording the week's finances.  Nemani took his knife and, with some care, copied out the title of the book and the first sentence.  He showed it to Thirk.

"Does this speak to you in the same way as that wood spirit does?" he asked.  Thirk frowned.

"Not exactly," Thirk admitted.  "When I look at the wood spirit, the words sort of just come to me.  Here... I guess I could learn to remember what they mean."

"That could be very, very useful," said Nemani, and with a soft ringing in his mind his thoughts went back to the dying greenery outside.  Why was that always bugging him so?  Thirk looked at the fork.

"What do we reckon that is?" he asked.

"I'm not sure.  It looks like a double-headed spear, but the points are flat.  Perhaps it's meant to be an example of this 'Steol'.  How hard do you reckon it is?"

"Not sure," said Thirk.  "Could always just smack it against a rock and see which one cracks."  Thirk pulled a piece of flint he had been working on from his leather belt and passed it to Nemani.  With a shrug, the priest picked up the fork and smacked the end against the stone.

The fork rang.

The note spread out, soft at first and then booming into a crescendo of pure sound.  True C filled the hall, and everyone within felt a sudden rush of life within them, as if inspired.  The sound spread out, cascading through the windows of the temple hall and into the village itself.

When the sound had passed, Nemani quietly kept hold of the Fork.  This would have to go somewhere very safe...


The Fork of Inspiration has been used in Nemani's Village.  The Fork remains there for the time being.

[Acanthus117]

The Reaver howled into the black skies above Aether, its call like the scream of some eldritch beast. It had received its orders from its Master; Fear was to be inspired not by rent bodies and bloodstained trees but with less... fun methods. Its mere presence was enough, and a few nips at the heels of the tiny mortals would suffice, if needed.

Over the next few weeks, The Reaver, stalked the forests, herding the elves every which way like a monstrous sheepdog, nipping the heels of its terrified flock. The elves, some nearly insane with fear, rapidly constructed ramshackle huts and erected flimsy walls, and whatever spellcasters they had chanted furiously, setting up wards and magical barriers to further cloister their villages from the world.

By some grace bestowed upon them by Luna, their Goddess, or by some other entity, the villages prospered, and the fearful elves managed to more than survive, but flourish. Their storehouses were full to bursting, and the bravest would set out, creating a web of trade routes in between the villages, exchanging with the others for what they did not have.

The Reaver scares various bands of Aether Elves into banding together into larger villages by nonviolently stalking them and doing all sorts of scary crap. Its Master invests an act to ensure the village's success.

[Iituem]

"The elves are up to something," Ruk informed Nemani.  The elven priest was gently spinning the Fork in between his hands, making soft thrumming noises when it touched his fingers.  He looked up at his friend and now, advisor.

"What sort of up to something?" Nemani asked.

"They're banding together, putting up walls and buildings and such.  Trading, too."

"Speaking of trading, have we had any word back from the dwarves?"

"They said they'd mull over it.  Curio, too.  He was... pretty hard to figure out."

"He always is.  I thought you brought back a visitor, though?"

"One of the dwarves came back to see what our village was like.  He's mostly just sat at the watering hole, drinking beer."

"Call him round, I might have a job for him.  As for the elves, see if we can't bring them into trade as well, and work at setting up routes with the other human villages too.  Also, try to spread this around."  Nemani picked up a handful of bark cuttings, full of scribbling.

"More loans?"  Nemani shook his head.

"We figured this out from the wood spirit that appeared on the altar.  It's a way of putting words down into wood.  Or stone, or anything else you can make a mark on.  It's like the bark slices for keeping loan records, but the symbols mean more things.  And the best thing is, once the words are down, they don't go away.  Well, unless you destroy the bark.  But it means we can keep records of things much longer."

"So why do you want this sent out?" Ruk asked.

"I want you to take one of my scribes and get him to teach the villages we're trying to trade with the secret of this.  There's a word for it within the words, actually; 'Writing'.  And while you're at it, try and teach them our language.  People speak differently from tribe to tribe and it's a problem."

"I'll say," muttered Ruk.  "There's only so far you can get performing courtship with hand gestures."

"Not to mention the trading," said Nemani sternly.

"Well, of course."  Ruk chuckled and picked up the tablets, turning to leave.  He paused and glanced back.

"So if this 'writing' didn't come from Gheronaton, who did it come from?"

"The fire spirit said another god, but not which one," confessed Nemani.  "Perhaps Luna?  I doubt it.  I did once hear of another God, a mysterious one.  They called him 'Alex'.  Perhaps he still looks over us?  I don't know."

Ruk shrugged and made his way out of the hall.  A short time later a somewhat drunken midget with an enormous beard stumbled in.

"So you're the elf?" hiccuped the dwarf.  "Name's Urist.  What can you do for me?"

"I can make sure you have plenty to drink," said Nemani, wrinkling his nose involuntarily at the smell.  The dwarf laughed, though, so it was probably alright.

"Alright, elf.  What can I do for you, then?  Assuming it leads to more beer."

"As much as you can drink - which I'm sure is plenty.  I've heard tales of the dwarves knowing the secret of making machines - machines that run themselves, without a man having to push them.  And it's Nemani, not elf.  Or 'your holiness'."

"Ah, you mean steam?" asked Urist.  "Sorry to disappoint you, elf, but that's a closely guarded secret.  Even I don't know.  I do know about machines, though - but that's a trade secret, so don't think you'll be getting me to tell you!"

"I intended no such thing," lied Nemani.  He tapped the Fork gently against the altar, softly enough that the note was barely audible.  "But I could still use your aid.  You see this altar here?  What would it take for you to put a compartment in it?  A secret one, through use of your machines, that only I can open."

"Ah, you'll be wanting a lock, then.  Traps, too.  I can work with stone, but metal would be better.  Aye, though, I can fix it up so nobody but the person who has the key can get to whatever you put inside - short of cracking the altar open."

"Key?" Nemani asked.

"A sort of tool you use to open the lock, but it'll only open that lock, and that lock can be only opened by that key."

"Sounds like something that could be stolen," Nemani said with a frown.  "Can you make a lock that doesn't require a key?"

"Sort of," said Urist warily.  "I can do it so it requires a combination of different turns, and then you can only get in if you know the combination.  The difference is that any number of people will be able to open it - provided they know the combination."

"And so long as I never tell the combination, it will remain safe?" asked Nemani.

"Aye, that seems to be the case."

"Very well, then.  Make it so."


Nemani's scribes, under the influence of the Fork of Inspiration, develop Writing partly out of Accountancy and partly from reverse-engineering Dragnar's book.  [mortal]

Nemani sends Ruk out to the human villages and the growing elven villages to secure trade routes, as well as to spread the form of Writing they have devised, along with the language and culture of their village.  The word of Gheronaton will be spread along with it.  [mortal]

A sub-cult praising Alex for providing them with the Fork and book has accidentally evolved within Nemani's village.

[Lordinquisitor]

As they walked through the village many eyes watched them, curiously. It was understandable, for they must have looked strange.

The group consisted of five hooded figures- The leader looked just like a human, but he had two wings, which was without a doubt the main reason for all the attention. He was flanked by two big, muscular men, who were bigger than any human had the right to be. They seemed to wear iron masks and carried something big, wrapped in cloth.

The two others, who were following the other three, seemed to be humans. Yet, there was something strange about them. The way they walked, the way they eyed their surroundings.. Just like a dangerous predator would.

Finally they reached their destination: The temple of Gheronaton. At the gates they were challenged by a guard.
"What do you want?" He asked, looking at them with distrust and wonder.

"We come to pay our homage to the Lord of War. But first we`d like to see the head priest." Said the winged figure.

[Digital Hellhound]

The town was prosperous, and Niande could still feel the after-effects of divine interference in the air. She was not surprised. Coradin had told her to come here, and he wouldn't have done so without reason. She would serve as his eyes and ears. Her master could not be everywhere once.
Indeed, whatever had happened here would've gone unnoticed if she had not been in the area.
There were brilliant minds at work here, and she would surely find worthy artists quickly.
She would wait for the night before entering the town.

[Acanthus117]

All over the universe, the Scholars conversed with each other, enraged at the loss of one of their own. That particular individual, known as P'tat'vaari, had been an important member of its family, and had stocked plenty of knowledge that was now lost to its family. They would have to be more careful, they realized.

On every planet on which they had settled, The Scholars called out to their current master, beseeching for its aid. Their collective pleading had been heard, and in a moment, after the dust had settled, the Scholars cackled in glee.

On every world, dozens of black towers, seemingly cast out of pure, smooth obsidian had been erected. Inside, the Scholars would make their homes, and store their knowledge, and recieve their students. They would be known by many names, names given by the natives and names given by their owners, but to the Voidwalker, they would be known as Sanctums.

The Chained God creates Sanctums, great obsidian towers. There are at least a dozen per world, and they house the majority of all Scholars that live on the worlds. They are all interconnected by magical 'gates'. They serve as places of learning for mortals as well, and are protected by wards that make them hard to destroy, by mortal means anyways.

[Iituem]

A guard hurried into the temple, where Nemani was studying the temple's finances and a page copied from the Book of Steel.  He looked up at the guard and read the fear and wonder etched across his face.

"There are... people here to see you, your holiness.  They wish to honour Gheronaton."  Nemani could not help but notice the pause before 'people'.

"What kind of people?" Nemani asked warily, palming the sacrificial dagger from the altar's surface.

"Strange people, holiness.  A giant of a man, with two great wings like a bird, a pair of men wearing metal masks and two men who seem like us, yet they move like cats."

Nemani felt his throat dry up.  They're here for me, he thought.  They know my faith has failed and they've come to drag me to the cowards' pit.  He swallowed and tucked the knife into the back of his leggings.  If he was going to be sent there, he had no intention of being sent there as a coward.  Not that a knife would do much against Ironborn and one of the Firstborn (could it really be one of them?  He had heard only legends), but he might be able to take a Feral down with him.

Nemani stood, taking stock of his surroundings.  The chairs were useless for cover, but they could do as improvised weapons if he had to.  The altar might serve better for defense, but he'd probably end up trying to break a Feral spine over it instead.  His only regret was that Urist had not finished the modifications to the altar - the Fork remained in a secret pouch tied around his chest, hidden beneath his shirt.

Well.  Time to meet his Saviour.

"Show them in," he said to the guard, trying to control his voice.  "All of Gheronaton's people are welcome here."