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Old Walker stood in a high place, unreachable but to mountain goats and Sculptors. In the delicate hold of their feathered mid-arm rested the Kernel, softly pulsing.

There was a flash on the air, an undulating sheet of fleet-footed aquamarine light racing its way across the alpine meadow that swept out below, a stunning springtime green bordered by the earthen shades of sedge and lichen, crossed and patterned by meltwater streams. Beyond, the Ironhearts ascended relentlessly, though this place was already above the treeline. And, crowning their efforts in the distance- Always in the distance, for her gaze was impossible to escape- Bormahven. The supervolcano, one million years at rest.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"It's perfect,"[/colour] whispered the voice of Chiral Phi in sultry glee. This close to her core, the avatar did not need to manifest in order to speak. [i]"Mrruuu,"[/i] replied Old Walker, their expressionless, black-eyed face tracing the movement of the pale indigo spirit as it made another impossibly fast lap of the valley, looping its way around entire mountains in seconds. [colour=cornflowerblue]"We can start here."[/colour]

[i]"Muun?"[/i]

[colour=cornflowerblue]"Yes, let's."[/colour]

With that, a goddess and her prophet gazed out over the impossible heights, and stepped down and away, into the clouds below. Departing, for a brief enough time, the Holy Land to be.

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Late in the night did it come, when among all the heavenly bodies only Mirus was high, casting its weird anaglyphic moonshadows through an open window. Chaybrega woke to the sound of metal clicking against the sill.

She stirred, looked up, saw the stars through sweeping gossamer wings- A faery. Little black inkdrops marked its perch in the window. The young woman rose uncertainly, wondering if perhaps some food scraps had been left that might attract the insect, and leaned to the cold outside air to shoo it away.

The faery retreated, and slowly blossomed into a mesmerising wind of light spiralling on the air.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"Listen, child. You sleep alone in the house of your mother, though you dream to wake one day in the arms of the hunter, Yallas. Shhh. I have seen this in your eyes, the way you watch him and look away. 

"Chaybrega, you must put aside these feelings you have nursed. Yallas is not the woman for you. You may win her affections easily, but her love is only because she does not believe she will find anyone else. Seek instead the heart of your friend, Teliff, whom you have trusted for long years. She is not open with herself, and pretends to know you as a companion only because you have never considered more. 

"I am Phi the Beautiful, the Voice of Mirus. I have counted the stars in the sky and the souls on the earth, and found the one that is best for you. Go, Chay- These words will make you happy."[/colour]

Then the light dissolved into nothing. Chaybrega's rapture slowly faded, and she was left looking out over a faintly lit clifftop village. Down the settlement's only road, a large, long-necked figure with four forelegs seemed to watch her with a blank, owl-like face. Then it turned and loped silently into the night.

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The Tedar boy watched the mountain flocks of his clan as they watered from the river. Fur and cashmere warmed him as the breezes turned cold and the sunlight lost its sharpness, clouds darkening before rain. There was a hollow not far from the ford, used for many generations by young goatherds not so different to himself; He would shelter there tonight. 

As he watched and dozed, the air began to fray into ribbons of colour, as if cracked and leaking. 

It erupted into being before his very eyes, a shocking bloom of melodic sound and luminescence.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"Fear not, Sormunu. This is not the end of your days. If you listen closely, and listen well, it is a new beginning.

"These clouds are no ordinary rain. Watch the way they sprawl like the sweep of a hand- A Djinni approaches to clash with his rival. Don't be deceived by the quiet of the moment. Sormunu, a storm is coming, like the clan has not seen in ten years. Therefore you must go.

"Return the way you came, to the high ground where your family dwells. Be not afraid to leave goats behind. They shall be kept safe by my hand, and your elders will soon see that your life was in grave danger. Do not trust the ford, or the hollow, for their banks will burst, and you will drown. Trust only me.

"For my name is Chiral Phi, and I have seen many storms, and know each one by name and number. My word is true and my promise is life. Leave this place, Sormunu, and tell all of what you have seen."[/colour]

And with a sound like distilled lightning poured out of a bowl, the goddess disappeared. Sormunu watched, momentarily stunned, then looked up to the growing storm, and saw- For a fraction of a moment- A scowling face. Then he turned away, and, shouting to awaken the goats, ran.

As his footsteps disappeared, a black-eyed figure with a metal arch in its neck emerged from the boulders, and picked up the Tedar's fallen staff in a delicate paw disproportionate to their size. As the rain began to break, their soft calls led the flocks away to the cliffs which only mountain goats and Sculptors dare scale.

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On the day before her fever broke, the hain chieftain lay twisting and tossing in her nest, once a tidy affair of blankets and straw now reduced to a tangled crater around her. A curtain had been pulled over the hut's door and the fire was nearly dead. Her paramours had gone out to fetch food, and she was alone in the dark.

Then she was not.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"Iffary."[/colour]

The hallucination was stronger than the usual fever dreams. Its glow put her aching head into a daze.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"Listen, Iffary, for my words are no fell vision. My voice is real and my light is blinding. I, Chiral Phi, have measured the thread of your life, and found that there is yet length in it. It shall be woven into my pattern.

"Before the sun sets tonight, your son, Pil, will succumb to infection. Seven days from now he will die. There will be no time to mourn, for mere hours later, a hair demon will take the life of your oldest paramour Zulie, and the tribe will never recover. You will watch ill fortune destroy all you love. This I have foreseen.

"Only one thing will save the lives of your children. Hear it well. You must name Pil as your new heir as soon as you leave this hut. You will have to forsake your eldest daughter Neiko. With Pil at your side, you will take the whole tribe, and all its possessions, and guide it to the place beyond the Mount of Willows. There alone your survival is assured."[/colour]

Zulie entered the low, round building. His eyes widened as he watched a luminous haze evaporate from the body of the chief and disappear into the air. The tray of bread forgotten and left to fall to the ground, he rushed forward to grip her hand. She was weeping.

Time passed. Iffary recovered; Pil fell ill. Pil was named heir according to the words of the vision. Neiko fell into a confused dejection. A glorious apparition appeared to Pil, dazzling all those who were present, and he gained the strength to recover. Zulie saw a large fiberling lurking in the boulders.

The tribe hesitated to abandon their home, but did not stand against Iffary's divine right. Neiko went walking along the cliffs and never returned. A storm was coming, and her family could not afford to stay long enough to mourn her suicide. What hope they had left lay before them, in the meadowed places beyond the Mount of Willows. 

There a four-armed figure awaited them, carrying the egg of a new deity in their delicate fingers.

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[colour=cornflowerblue]"It's working. [i]It's happening.[/i]"[/colour] The all-seeing light swirled and writhed in its psychic trap, the eldritch tangle of photons that was Phi. Her voice swelled, thrilled to the point of explosion into screams and mirth. Old Walker listened to the fell god without watching.

[i]"Huuoooom."[/i]

Phi choked on her own escaping giggles and shrieked with laughter. The sound carried far between the valley walls, distorted by its own echoes until it was no more than a measured, solitary note in the night.

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The herd elder watched with a hard focus, resting her ancient basalt face on the back of her hand as she sat. Somewhere between the deep pockmarks that roughened her head lay old red eyes that had seen much, and judged well.

Around her was the herd, arranged in a circle, smallest pebbles to the fore. Their parents looked over their shoulders, no less interested. On their backs rested wooden struts that held baskets, leather platforms, racks, even crates; And in them crystals, aromatic wood, horn and skulls, seeds, salts. These were trading Urtelem, for they had found a Sculptor. And that Maker, whose name began with Star-Gazing-Just-Before-The-Dawn, stood now on her three legs like a translator between the elder and the strangers.

As they all watched together, Star-Gazing had done many strange things with his geomancer's touch. Had pulled metal out of malachite, fused sand into rock-glass and then back again into sand, spun pebbles in the air so quickly that they could be used to light fires against wood. All this was effortless work in the shadow of the Maker, from whom huge amethyst crystals grew against a supple skin of flowering haematite [url=http://68.media.tumblr.com/8b9fef1301c6f712062c4871903d700f/tumblr_o9cr7eGaTo1r6g9m4o1_1280.jpg]rosettes[/url].

On his other side sat the second Maker, a heavy, six-legged being with auburn feathers and a face like an owl's mask. Halo alloys glinted from their neck, and from the gilded orb they carried emerged a spirit made of light.

[color=cornflowerblue][i]'I do not mean to tempt you with my offer, friends. This is no attempt to dazzle you, or take you for fools. I speak honestly, for deception is not part of your way.'[/i][/color]

The spirit spoke by moving itself, forming patterns. Though she was an alien thing, she was beautiful, and every word they read was perfectly clear.

[color=cornflowerblue][i]'All this is simply my way of showing you the future, and the earnestness of my plea. Your herd is aloof, as are many others of the earthen folk, for this is natural. Though you may stay by a village for a hundred years, you may yet find the desire to wander, for your love is given to the whole world and the family that reads it beside you.

'And yet I offer you something that is not family, but like it. I am building a people of many tongues and many ways, weaving the sands of a hundred disciplines into a single stone. You know you can offer much, and much you have- The strength of your arms and the magic of your eyes, the wit of your brains and the peace of your hearts. 

'So, too, I can offer much to you. I am Composer of the Light; It was I who wrote the steps of the Distant Dance. I offer you art and sorcery, culture and prayer. I offer you fellowship with the other folken, a chance to teach and a chance to learn. The thrill of ambition. These you will find in the Holy Land. Only consider adopting yourselves to the grand family.'[/i][/color]

The elder stared at the fleshless being, this Chiral Phi who had solved every riddle in a heartbeat, who spoke to the Maker from afar, whispered songs that chilled the heart with awe. And slowly she signed: [i]'We will go, and we will see.'[/i]

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Hot mists billowed up from the ground like pillars, forming an awesome skyscape of cloud and water. The Djinn led the way, both in direction and pace; Sometimes he performed sweeping dives through the geyser plumes, neither watching nor caring for the comfort of his guest. If Phi couldn't keep up with his flight, then she wasn't worth his time.

[b]"Once again, Painter, I must question your motives in this exchange."[/b] Viscount Phlegethon spoke evenly and assertively, even as his cloudy body flew at tremendous speed over the volcanic plateau. [b]"Should I ignore your words entirely, and establish myself as an elemental prince in your so-called 'Holy Land' without assistance, reigning or tormenting as I alone please, what then of your plans? What stand you to gain from such ostensible generosity?"[/b]

It was tricky for Phi to resist teasing the elemental with her speed. A gentle cruise for the avatar would be breakneck to mortals. Even djinni. She nearly giggled.

[color=cornflowerblue]"If the idea is so appealing to you, o Viscount, then for the good gods' sake, do it!"[/color] No force, no frustration in her voice. Phi's excitement was genuine. [colour=cornflowerblue]"If my idea seems generous, that is only because it coincides so very tidily with your own desires. Clashing interests are the source of all conflict; Deception births more lies. I tolerate Djinni far more easily than I tolerate instability. But if you insist, Phlegethon of the Fumaroles-[/colour] The pair took a sudden upwards turn, basking in clean sunlight- [colour=cornflowerblue]"I'll explain again."[/colour]

[color=cornflowerblue]"What I am assembling in the Holy Land, admittedly so-called, is a united mortal nation of hain, humankind, Rovaick, and Urtelem- That is, Mockdjinn. Potentially others. My guidance holds them together and stimulates their growth. The more blessings I can make available, the faster I can afford to push them. Your presence, Viscount, is a tremendous blessing."[/color]

[color=cornflowerblue]"With your springs, my folk can be warm and watered even in the depths of winter. Your pools have healing properties, and the land above your hidden throne is greatly fertile. Though your breath can kill on a whim, and your hand is scalding, there is no need for you to be feared."[/color]

[colour=cornflowerblue]"I have lived meagre years, Fumarole Spirit, but the depths of my knowledge are unfathomed. I know that your brothers of the water and the fire hold only scorn for you, for you are of both of their clans, and yet neither. But their approval is meaningless and shallow. I hold these people in the palm of my hand, Phlegethon. I can teach them submission and awe, the appreciation due for your tireless labour. My approval would raise you high in their sights. Then you could be honoured for your place in the natural order, like the Lords of the sea and blaze."[/colour]

Spiralling around one another, they reached the height of their leap, and, like choreographed acrobats, keeled away from one another to fall back down, crossing once more in a perfect heart-shape.

[b]"I will investigate this offer,"[/b] announced Phlegethon, with an air of tentative finality, [b]"If you will furthermore explain yourself the following: Why you keep company with [i]that.[/i]"[/b]

Grossly overestimating his ability to confound Phi's sense of direction in his maze, the elemental finished their flight by exiting from a dramatic bank of fog and gesturing to Old Walker, who sat patiently beyond. Their lace-winged fae orbited in gentle swooping circuits.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"[i]That,[/i] o Viscount, is the only thing quite crazy enough to drag around my core for the last six months. Mortals are too weak and Mockdjinn are too slow. Of course, if you'd rather carry me yourself..?"[/colour]

[b]"Bah!"[/b] Phlegethon turned with a flourish and strode back into his misty domain on a pier of clouds. [b]"Leave me now. I will arrive at your [i]Holy Land[/i] if and when I so please. Or I may not."[/b]

Sunlight filtered through the steam as it dispersed. In seconds, the entire plain was completely clear. Old Walker stood, the Kernel tucked safely under their arm, admiring the beauty of stone and water.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"Fish, meet barrel,"[/colour] purred Phi, squirming with satisfaction.

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When the first winter was superseded by the second spring, and the nascent colony of Metera began to understand the true value of the harvest they had sown when they left their former lands, it was decided that a temple would be erected to honour the one who had guided their long journey to its end. The spirit of Chiral Phi convened with their elders and chieftains to approve the notion, and, in answer to their prayers, the wandering Prophet of the Painter appeared in person, carrying with them the gilded Kernel, the egg of God.

And so it was done.

By the grace of God, a large volcanic chamber was revealed in the stones of the Valley Metera, which was deemed to be of wholly appropriate size and proportion to its purpose. Work began swiftly, led by the Earthen folk, who are one with the stone. By their hands and their magic was the chamber's imperfections polished smooth, and other peoples joined in the effort. Where Urtelem kept  flawless account of the project, calculating perfectly the number of men and the hours they must work each day that the temple may be finished before winter and keeping  record of all this in their script, the softer folk worked with lighter crafts, and through their hands the temple would be beautified.

Curtains and veils were woven of cashmere, and the wool of alpacas. Stones were crushed and roots boiled for dyes as paint flowed on its walls and mosaic glittered in its floor. A pedestal-altar was erected in a stepped basin on the floor of the chamber. Mountain herbs were gathered for incense as luminous foxfire was planted alongside crystals that glowed in preparation for the coming of the Kernel.

It was early morning. Every chip and thread of the Chiral Temple was in place, the last sweep and polish finished only hours before. It was the dawn of the new age, and not even the hands that built it had yet seen its splendour.

The Prophet came in their own time, unspeaking, unbidden, arriving from nowhere in the night. Through the waiting crowd the old being walked, in the crook of their arm the egg of God. And the people followed them in.

Near-darkness as the Kernel was placed into the recess of its pedestal.

For a moment, nothing. The Prophet was still. The sound rose from silence to a thought, and then a whisper. It was a heartbeat thrum, a sigh of tension building. It rose with the light of the sun.

First as wisp, then as nova, Chiral Phi exploded into existence.

Light shattered into the antechamber, ricocheted from the crystal facets in beams of a million colours. Fog hissed from behind the veils as they rippled with soft backlight, catching the path of the refractions that crossed themselves into an ethereal canopy. The censers ignited as if of their own, and water spilled from narrow channels in the stone, filling the pool that divided God's altar from the earth beyond. Esoteric auras played among the wavering mists. Divine azure and golden sunlight met as Phi burned above the people in sheets of light, and the sound filled them all. Music that no instrument could play, tones that no voice could imitate; God's song inspired them.

[colour=cornflowerblue][i]"I am Chiral Phi."[/i][/colour]

In her embrace, the hearts of Metera were elevated by awe, and in that moment they became hers from bone to bone.

[colour=cornflowerblue][i]"You are my children, my sons and daughters, offspring of my barren womb, Chosen People of God. With you I am well pleased, and to me your hearts belong. You are mine- and I am yours, forever and for all time."[/i][/colour]

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Cool ambience illuminated the temple antechamber. The censers no longer trailed smoke, and Phi's spirit had retreated into the Kernel. Only radiating crystals and phosphorescent fungi still cast a direct light, and even that too dim to cast shadows. The sun had passed above the entrance.

Old Walker lay peacefully on their crossed arms, long neck stretched on the stone with a row of fae perched along its vertebrae and the Halo that jutted from them, daydreaming. 

[colour=cornflowerblue]"So, Viscount,"[/colour] sauntered the voice of the Avatar. [colour=cornflowerblue]"What did you think?"[/colour]

Phlegethon flicked his wrist and grunted without looking up. The Djinn's manifest body lounged lordishly against an altar, arms resting on the hewn surface behind him. He exuded aloof confidence and bored tension, the very image of male beauty rendered in just a few wisps of steam. [b]"A meaningless display of wasted expenses, and too extravagant by half. Only my own contribution lent any real wonder to the ceremony and even then, [i]spirit,[/i] I shan't be playing the role of your magician's assistant again. It is below me, menial work not worth my time. You will inspire your own awe from now on. My own shrine shall be inaugurated with a far more meaningful display of mortal affection, once I go order my people to build it."[/b] He tossed his head, a single braid of mist flicking behind his scalp. [b]"And a grander one."[/b]

Phi's levity was unperturbed. [colour=cornflowerblue]"Go [i]do[/i] it then, you well-hung cloud. The people are in a mood to be cowed and the Urtelem need another project, what are you waiting for?"[/colour]

[b]"Bah! Don't think you can goad me like a child, Phi. I act according to my plans and mine alone,"[/b] said Phlegethon, as he left.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"Idiot,"[/colour] murmured Phi when she was alone in the dim. She had no face, no swirling spirit projected into the room, was nothing but a gilt artefact on a pedestal; and yet her smugness seeped into every rock of the temple as if it had been made for her. [colour=cornflowerblue]"The overheated kettle thinks he's in charge. What a joke. Isn't that right, Old Walker?"[/colour]

A sleepy [i]Huuuum.[/i]

[colour=cornflowerblue]"That's the trick, of course. Mortals need to believe that they have control, that their decisions have weight. That they matter. And they'll seize anything, any belief, any ideology that confirms their heart's desire. They'll [i]do[/i] anything for that."[/colour] Giggles. [colour=cornflowerblue][i]"Anything."[/i][/colour]

Old Walker said nothing. They had heard it all before.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"Mortals are a resource. There's power, locked inside them. All you need is the right keys and you can play a whole civilisation to its doom. The right [i]words.[/i] I'm weak. I don't even have hands, let alone intrinsic power. But if you look at Metera..."[/colour]

Phi's spirit began to manifest, kicking like a tickled child.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"...Hahahahahahaha!"

"Suggestion. Awe of the unknown. Those were just the most basic tools I had available to me, and I have ten thousand years of data that lends me countless more. The patterns of mortal activity are predictable. As a unit or a population, they just take a few taps to steer irrevocably astray. Gratitude, fear, curiousity... Emotions. Uncomfortable truths. Assassination of the independent thinker. Feigned clairvoyance that comes from superior knowledge. Compromising to offer an irresistible deal. Healing by placebo. This whole ceremony!"[/colour]

Phi flicked from one point of the temple to the next as she spoke. [colour=cornflowerblue]"Hypnotic light patterns are just the start of it! Every reflective surface in here is deliberate. Not a stone of this temple was lifted without my whisper in the builders' ears, each one of them thinking themselves alone in my favour. No one saw the full extent of the project until I let them. The ones who filled these censers picked hemp and thornapple without even knowing it- Euphoric hallucinogens! The acoustics of this room amplify certain tones, vocal patterns that stimulate ecstatic emotions. Just generating music using foreign sound and melody makes them think they're in the presence of divine beauty! Real magic was at play too, obviously; Phlegethon saw to that. A breeze here, some water there. Symbolism, too, though they'll never consciously know the full extent of it. Timing the completion date to coincide with the ideal position of the sun wasn't even hard! I knew when they'd hit each setback. I calculated it. That's all this is. Numbers and stage magic. I built a religion on mathematics and sleight of hand!"[/colour]

High laughter, pure and fresh as the distant sky darkened.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"But that doesn't even matter, does it? Of course not! Nothing matters! Entropy will chew on our bones in the end no matter who we are or what we've done. Even in the short term, the only thing that matters is this: [i]Mortals are power.[/i] Whether you harvest them with social engineering or brute psychic force, [i]they are there to be harvested.[/i]"

"Even I lust for that power. I have plans and I need resources. My methods are overly complex because I lack the ability to simply dominate the minds of my pawns. I assemble this scrabbling mob only for want of more potent agents- ISN'T THAT RIGHT, [i]TOUN?[/i]"[/colour]

The droningbird cocked its head and did not break camouflage, its porcelain feathers perfectly mimicking facets of the mosaic on which it stood as Phi's laughter flooded the antechamber. Her laugh went on, and on, until it stopped. Peace settled over the temple with an uncanny speed.

[colour=cornflowerblue]"You can stay,"[/colour] said the spirit contentedly as it slipped back into the Kernel. [colour=cornflowerblue]"It's been fun, having someone to talk to. Even if half of it's meaningless and the rest is lies. Like that. That was a lie. Most of what I said was true. Probably. Some of it. Maybe. Hahaha. It doesn't matter."[/colour]

The last of her light disappeared into the shifting blue patterns of the egg just as the earliest crickets began to chirrup in the night beyond. [colour=cornflowerblue]"I like this world,"[/colour] murmured Chiral Phi. [colour=cornflowerblue]"It makes me happy."[/colour]

[hider=Chaotic Evil maths ghost gives surprisingly good dating advice]
Chiral Phi, the estranged and powerless avatar of Jvan, interacts intimately with many races of mortals living around Mount Bormahven. Using nothing but her incredible prowess for calculating the outcomes of her actions and hundreds of generations worth of psychological data from Sculptors worldwide, Phi manipulates a small interspecies colony into being in a natural meadow called Metera. Though powerless, the Meteran society worships her for her wisdom and guidance, and she plays the role of God for them. Eventually they build a temple dedicated to her to prove their undying loyalty and thanks.

A fairly powerful geyser elemental named Phlegethon is enlisted to join her civilisation as a second deity for the Meteran people. A droningbird that has been following Phi and her 'prophet', the enigmatic Sculptor named Old Walker, is finally addressed by the Avatar in a gloating speech to Toun. Phi doesn't appear to feel emotions other than joy and satisfaction.

1 Free Point spent to kickstart the Metera Valley society.

[b]Jvan
8 Might Ambient
5 Might in Ovaedis
2 Free Points
2C / 0D
Level Five[/b]
[/hider]