[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/1bbdeb6c-71c0-4853-a9f2-6fc469a5041d.png[/img][/center] For long, Narzhak's booming laughter did not cease, rolling over the chaos below him like the rumbling of a storm. When the initial access of hilarity from the mere fact that he [i]was[/i] had passed, he looked down upon all the minuscule creatures that scrambled at his feet, and what he saw was so comical that it made his throat boil with renewed mirth. Here, that scampering thing with chopstick eyes - what was a chopstick? He surmised it was what her eyes were made of - lopped off the Demon's appendage in passing before colliding with a gaggle of other beasts in a flurry of scratching and cursing. Amusing as that was, he had to admire how fast she was with that knife. Better yet was the scene of the elder one rebuking that insolent shade. What sort of question was "why"? They were there - he was there, and it was all that mattered. What made him outright bellow out in merriment, though, was Seihdhara being battered to the ground in punishment for her sacrilege (sacrilege was the word for this, yes!). This was how one should deal with disorderly underlings! Few words and a strong hand. Where before then Narzhak had simply felt indebted to the Architect for allowing him into a world worthy of that name, he now found growing within himself genuine respect for the old god. Serving one such as him was certainly not going to be a burden. Serving, indeed. He was here for that. These thoughts left him in such a contented state that even when that other fiery runt, evidently not having learned his fellow's lesson, shouted his own hollow defiance. Narzhak lazily shifted a foot, which ought to have been enough to raise a wave to douse a hundred ones such as Sartravius. But, unexpectedly, it was not. Puzzled, he stomped down with greater force, his laughter finally abating as the new sense of confusion took its place. Still nothing. It was only after finally standing still for an instant that he noticed a new force drawing the fluid away from where he stood, and his bemused gaze followed the current as it coalesced and spoke the first sensible words he had heard from this whole rabble. [b][color=#CD2626]"Create, yes. That's a fine thought"[/color][/b] he mused, ponderously swaying his head. Now that he thought of it, he had always known that his purpose was creation. He knew something! It struck him then, drawing out another distant peal of laughter. He knew, because someone had told him what he needed to know. This truly was the best of all worlds. Slowly, heavily, he moved one step, then another, sending tremors through the ground. Having a body was easier than he thought. Within each twinge of his flesh, he could feel a gleeful urge to take something, anything, into his hands and crush it, snap it, let his strength flow free in all its terrible immensity. With that strength, he could shatter anything, yet he could also rein it in and wield it as he best pleased, and this gave him an indescribable feeling of power. So absorbed was he in the simple act of slowly shuffling ahead with no particular goal that he failed to notice a figure of ruin and stars kneeling ahead in his path, a shimmering granule from the height of his stature. He did not see it, and for a moment neither did anyone else as an ironclad mass great enough to blot out a forest descended upon it with a dull impact. Narzhak stopped to consider where he was going. The crystalline monoliths upon which some other divines had already ascended towards the far-off world lay to another side altogether. With a grunt accompanied by a lingering chuckling, he began to cumberously turn about, before another thought gave him pause. Was he forgetting something? He leaned his head to the side, pondering, until it occurred to him that he had not seen the chopstick-eyed little thing recover her cleaver. That, he found, was a terrible omission. To release someone so skilful and eager at swinging blades into any world without a weapon to match would have been unforgivably negligent of anyone, let alone him. Why him in particular? He was only dimly aware of the answer. It may have been the echoes of an unspoken command radiating from the Architect, or perhaps the mere thought of a bloodied trail of severed fingers that pressed up his throat with new bouts of irrepressible hilarity. Whichever it was, it was good enough for him. Ever rumbling amusedly to himself, the colossus set off towards where he had last seen the knife and its wielder, his shadow preceding him like a bloody tide upon the waters. [hider=Summary] Narzhak keeps cracking up at the sight of everyone falling over and getting smacked around. He only stops - mostly - when he tries to splash Sartravius, but the water doesn't work as it should. He nevertheless agrees with what it has to say and decides to head to work, only to get carried away stretching his new body and end up inadvertently stepping on Orvus (without even noticing it, what a brute). He's then distracted by the fact that Chopsticks doesn't have anything to chop people with, and shuffles off to help her with her missing cleaver. [/hider]