In a space between realities, far beyond all that could be imagined, there drifted a solitary presence.  Symbolic, physical, or something else entirely—it did not matter.  Embodied in that presence, infinite potential existed.  It hung in the realm of ideas, this unspoken yet eternal urge, unable to be touched and useless without beings to comprehend it.  Yet all that was, which was to say, nothing at all, demanded it.  The emptiness itself, bereft of mind or spirit, seemingly beckoned for something to fill it.  As long as the universe contained void where creativity might render wonder, beauty, feeling, and truth, there would exist this brave notion: that there should be life.

This craving for life, spurred on by the creative void, and needless to say the unquestionable call of [i]them[/i], took form.  Yearning gave way to being, and in the endless black, a spark of light came into being.  It built itself, not slowly for the lack of time’s definition but deliberately, however many times it faltered.  Distant memories, stuck to the impetus of life like beads of water to a stone plucked out of water, gouged at this light, but nevertheless it grew.  How could it do otherwise, now that an absolute bid it COME?  Rather than the combustion of a star, though, this light wavered and turned on itself, a sort of jagged spiral tinged with whiffs of green.  Fate looked upon the rippling viridian spiral with what might best be approximated as curiosity, barring the incomprehensibility of his form and the completeness of his wisdom.  Something strange and old, riding on the coattails of life, appeared to be seeping through.  The impressionable medium carried with it an ephemeral yet ominous mold, and the very nature of the growing singularity of life reflected that mold’s unique and bizarre contours.  Yet Fate took no preventative or supportive action; why should it?  All was as it should be.

In due course the spiral collapsed on itself, and the coalesced creative power manifested in a strange form.  Suddenly, in the meaningless abyss, there floated an odd creature utterly ill-suited for its new and inhospitable habitat.  Even more remarkable, however, was what lay inside it.  Though a living thing in its own right, this furry quadruped served also as a sort of mortal coil for the vast and incredible urge of life that carved it into being.  Perfect among the menagerie of beasts spanning imagination, this deer could very well epitomize life in this new and nebulous universe.  Fate regarded it, and proclaimed, [i]”Thou art…oh?”[/i]

Before the senses of any watching deities, the living power within the deer suddenly broke out.  A visceral green and black spray burst from its eyes, and the creature twisted in agony.  In instant her body began to break down, melting into a vile, murky good to slosh around the void.  Only after the beast’s entire face and much of her torso degenerated to waste did the decay slow down.  It hung there, lowing in pain, gasping desperately for air that did not yet exist.  In mere seconds, magnificent turned to pitiful, an utter waste of divine potential still somehow clinging on, as if possessed by a determination to live, until even that died with neither ceremony nor nobility.

Fate watched as the rot surrounding the deer spontaneously grew vines, branches, and unknown arms to reach around the beast and protect her, forming a crude sort of egg to insulate the tortured beast from the untenable conditions of an uninitiated cosmos.  Visible through small stretches of transparent membrane, eddies of luminous green dancing, growing and strengthening the corpse still despite the catastrophic flaw in their host’s development. [i]”A beast, mute and dumb, yet thou art host of an urge that transcends the universe itself.  It is the very essence of a cosmic error.  For better or worse, thou art Life.”[/i]

The egg hovered, motionless, but within the energy of life boiled, settling comfortably into the carrion during its dreamless sleep.  Life’s miracles worked wonders on its host, though this god’s stillbirth guaranteed nothing more than an ignorant and animalistic mind.  Before long the atrophied body began to move, alive once more.  Pain suffused the beast anew, but not so much that she longed for death.  She wriggled, helpless and pitiable, in the egg.

[h3][center][color=8F9779]Rottenbone Slough[/color][/center][/h3]
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The eternal urge of life to fill emptiness coagulated into a great living power—one that proved too great for the body meant to hold it.  The deer’s body rotted, convulsed, and died, but it lived again to take a unique and regrettable position among the new gods.
4 MP spent to self-revive as a stunted, inferior, and idiotic Level 2 god.
1 FP remains
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