[center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/357353496057610242/531937501057777664/sym1A1.png?width=240&height=301[/img][/center] “A king without a throne.” The voice echoed among the vast emptiness of void. It belonged to a tall figure who was notably pale, and dressed in very alien like- but fine gentlemanly clothes. On his face he wore a contemplative grin, like that of a Cheshire cat, its corners stretching up alongside his dark brooding eyes. As he thought the void shimmered and shook, his creation was being pulled from the hallows of his own mind and into reality. As he did, he heard the signature pop and cackles of creation in the far away infinite distance, as other Gods formed their own realms in this new primordial world. A step. The Gentleman took a step forward, and as his did his foot landed on a flat stone formulated from nothing, another step and another stone. Rapidly other stones began to appear from nowhere, blinking in the darkness of the void. By time stones stopped appearing, the Gentleman was walking up a neatly laid pathway. An ethereal lawn sprouted on either side as the Gentleman strolled, with mossy fountains and bizarre statues of things not quite right erupting every so often from the ground. The entire scene was made of dreams, not quite physical but not quite mystical, stuck in a strange land between light and dark. The pathway continued, stopping at a great bronze gate, faceted between mighty cobblestone walls. The gate was already aged reddish despite just being born, and the stones were dull and grey, shimmering when not looking at it directly, as if they weren’t really there. In fact, everything sort of disappeared in the peripheral, but when the eye darted to double check, there everything was as if it was always there. The Gentleman’s smile somehow widened at his work, and the great gates screeched open before him so he may continue his stroll. Beyond the gates the lawn great somewhat more fantastical, with all sorts of strange flowers and bushes, some growing upside down, others inverted, and none quite right. At the end of the path was a row of steps, leading up to a massive double door of iron and wood. Great knockers were bolted to the door, but went unused as the presence of the Gentleman caused the doors to swing open unprovoked. The Gentleman’s stroll continued. As he did, a wondrous hall materialized around him, matching his pace. Portraits of bizarre scenes and creatures hung on gaudily patterned walls, reliefs of strange languages molded the tops and bottoms of the hallway, and on either side great doors embedded themselves, each different than the last. Beyond each door, the Gentleman knew, hid a different scenario, a different dream. Each room was infinitely large as it was infinitely small, able to create anything possible, and anything impossible, such was the nature of dreams. The Gentleman’s smile bolded, knowing what entertainment he may seek there. At last the Gentleman’s stroll stopped, having passed through a solid gold door at the end of the hallway, he now stood in a room. It was cavernous and shaped like a dome. Amazing shapes glittered the ceiling, and a void dark tile reflected it from the flood. At the center of the hollow room there was a raised dais, and atop that dais was a heavy throne of mahogany and gold. The Gentleman’s footsteps echoed loudly as he made his way to the dais, only softening as they reached a red carpet that spread over the dias. A few steps more and the Gentleman was at the throne. He sat, the wood curving to his back, and the floor hitting the soles of his feet at the perfect angle, it was his throne. “A throne for the king,” the Gentleman said aloud, “a throne for K’nell, god of sleep.” There was a silence, and slowly the Cheshire smile faded, at least as far as it could. He felt it once more, and his stomach rumbled. The joy of creation only entertained him for so long, only masked his existential truth for a moment. If he was to be well, he knew he would need to continue his masquerade with himself, and mask his purposelessness with creation and entertainment. His eyes narrowed and with a strong [i] THWACK [/i] he slammed his balled fists onto the armrests of his throne. Almost immediately there was a massive flash as the ethereal palace began to shimmer and pulse. It’s bricks were dreams, and it’s timbers were thoughts, fitting for the king of sleep. “[i]Anything can happen in a dream,[/i]” he thought out loud, his mind crafting a thought before his eyes. He saw the very Palace of dreams he sat in, it’s strange architecture ignoring the laws of reality, and it’s many halls and rooms filled with sleepers, those who may dream. His smile widened at the prospect, yes. An endless festival to keep him from remembering, an endless festival surely would give him more… more purpose? Perhaps. He would need attendants. K’nell knew this foremost, knowing that he alone could not possibly host such a thing alone. His eyes darted upwards and the dream in front of him faded back into the background of the palace. K’nell’s gaze landed on the ceiling of the ballroom. Slowly etchings and murals began to scratch their way on the surface of the palace. The illuminations slowly formed and K’nells smile widened. Made of the palace, made of dreams, his new creation suddenly plopped out of the ceiling and crashed onto the floor below. Slowly more and more fell to the ballroom floor, each landing with such a thud that it created a simple melody, until finally it stopped. In front of the god stood a small host of creatures, non sentient but all willing. They were mere orbs made of K’nells own dreams and thoughts, much like the palace itself. Immediately K’nell felt a sickening kinship with them. He wasn’t sure why, but it disgusted him. Could it be perhaps, that these servants were to him as he was to his own creator? Existing simply to make dreams in his absence and upkeep the palace. With a dismissing wave of his hand the dreamweavers scattered, finding rooms to begin their creations and leaving K’nell with his thoughts. K’nell’s smile faded as much as it could once more. What good are hosts and festivities without guests? Something in his gut told him the others may not be the best house guests, no, there must be another way to find guests. The palace emitted a wave of course, one powerful enough to lull all life on Galbar to eventually sleep, and just as K’nell would have it, this wave could be ridden by the sleeping, their destination: the palace and its many rooms, a dream for each guest. However there was a problem that K’nell recognized all too well: there was no one on Galbar. The gods eyes seemed to reflect disappointment, his grand plan that he had already formulated was so easily dismantled by this one key component. K’nell looked forward, knowing something must be done about this… [hider=summary] Sleep, and dreams have come into existence. 8fp spent on creating the Palace of Dreams 2fp on crafting the dreamweavers from the Palace of Dreams 10fp spent in total on dream related things 5 mp spent on securing the dream portfolio 10 fp and 0 mp remaining [/hider]