[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/SJNXoOw.png[/img]

The [i]Kavijama[/i]  | the thing of ink & poetry | The [i]Hibrach[/i]

[hider=Summary]Filled with inspiration by the Worldsong, Meghzaal goes on a semi-crazed aurora-esque storm of ink, song, and poetry the world over. He sweeps up many creations as he goes - alminaki men, celestial sheep, itztli, leeoli wisps, magnus pods, yetis, various trees (alder, hawthorne, lonethorn, are specifically mentioned), human women, and carries them all off to Kubrajzar.
The [url=https://i.imgur.com/nDGFSL9.jpg?1]yetis of Kubrajzar's mountains[/url] are without horns and rather than being white they are mottled black and white. They are not as crazed or ravenous as their counterparts in the anchor, and those who live nearby generally offer up their dead to the mountain.
The trees are deposited across Kubrajzar, and the magnus pods are seen to explode like shooting stars, shedding spores and seeds across the landscape. The sheep and leeoli are deposited offscreen, but they are now present on the continent.
The itztli go off on their own, probably to form their own community in the central marshy jungles of Kubrajzar, and the alminaki men and human women congregate around each other stay by the central inner sea, likely forming their own community (of eventual human-alminaki hybrids) there.

Might Expenditure:
0 DP - Streak the Sky with Colour: The heavens are no longer blue by day and black by night, but permanently aurora-esque. Clouds remain white/grey or orange/pink/purple/red by sunset.
1 MP - Grant Magic: Grant the new sapients of Kubrajzar the ability to hear the Worldsong and Spiritsing - they do not necessarily realise the latter yet (1 MP Towards Song portfolio)

Bookkeeping: 0 MP remaining / 5 DP remaining / 5/5 MP towards Song Portfolio[/hider][/centre]

When the Worldsong burst the silence of creation and breathed life into all that was, the Hibrach wept for joy. And that great thing of ink - that effervescent spew of poetry and spattering of song - closed all senses bar the fervid need for art and went listening and sighing the world over. It swirled and sang with the singing of creation, and the many giants that dwelled on Kubrajzar and those singing trolls - ah, brother troll! - gazed upward as the many-coloured muse varnished the sky, and some swayed, and some reached forth and moaned (and why shouldn't they moan and sway with the song their voices and their spirits sang?)

Well then, that one birthed of ink and melded of the darkness of the deeps went moaning and hearing, across the worldwater in a great slow spiral - listen to the chorus of the waves calling to their inconstant celestial mistress ([i]You beckon us daily, then rebuke only / Does't please your heart to leave us so lonely? / With rebukes you scatter us off to the deep / And dying, we rise for your harvester's sweep / Your strikes and your rebukes are better by far / Than the beckonings of creation are![/i]) -, across the threescore or more isles, and across a continent that teemed with life. And as that raging, swirling, storming cloud of spattering colour and canorous sound bellowed hither and thither listening and sighing, breathing and crying, painting idly and deftly dyeing, there were caught up in it a myriad of beings and creations. 
Here a feather-haired desertman was entangled, and there a second - a third. A wooly leaper, having long surrendered the hope of reaching the coveted stars, leaps and flies. It flies and flies - and this time there is no return to land, but flight is destiny, and to baa is not to baa but is to pluck the cords of the heavens. A great lizard came screeching, torn from the safehaven of its godmaster - [i]but if ironwilled you be little itztli, come let us set you free beyond your people's sea[/i]. And wisps of blinking light, their spirits huffing and puffing at all this exhilaration and excitement of light and sound. The great white stalker of the world's fortress gazed at the psychedelic delirium enveloping all above and all about, and it stood firm that stalwart beast as the inks whipped at him and tore his horns, and tore him too from his frosty home. Here a great flying pod went whirling off its decreed course, its spirit loosing songs of hysteria as it gave itself fully to the intoxicating celestial outflow of the great surging thing of ink & poetry.  And oh! Do not think that the slumbering trees rooted to the depths of the earth did not wake - watch them stir! Watch their roots tremble! Watch their leaves rise and watch their branches sway to the cosmic song - here a root bursts, earth scatters, bark groans, trees fly when the cup wells over. And if thus the Alder, Hawthorne, Lonethorn, what then of that fleeting creature, man? Into the song she glides, hair whipping, soul gushing the universal anthem.

[centre](Beside the stream HOLDER)[/centre]

In that great maelstrom of visual and auditory liberation, all faded. In those swirling bodies there was not a single [i]I[/i] to be seen or heard, only orgastic unity. And when at last that sudden and world-shattering thing of ink & poetry faded out and utterly disappeared the beneficiaries and victims of its global raid sat dazed and at a loss, bathing in a post-epiphanic stew, terrified of moving or even breathing so as not to lose whatever [i]this[/i] was. Terrified to continue the banal life they had known before their minds and hearts were flung open and all the barricades and great mountains they had carefully built to keep [i]this[/i] out were decimated and rent asunder.

A yeti moaned, a desertman sighed, a lizard hissed, a woman wiped away her tears and - ah, there it was. [i]I, I, I.[/i] It had returned, that glorious [i]I[/i]. They took in the new world - the coloured sky, the unfamiliar boggy terrain, the mountains that rose up not far, the seemingly endless expanse of water before them, the trees everywhere. Life was abuzz here too, insects were upon them almost immediately and the sounds (the roar of a distant river, the living forest, the gentle ebbing and flowing of the waves), oh the [i]sounds[/i] - the whispering of the waters, the muttering of the trees, the bizarre tune of the strange insects that joyed to suck their blood, and more distant too - other songs, other tunes. Oh, it sent a shiver down their spines. No no, banal life there'd be no more. The god had torn open their hearts, the inner eye was unblinking and welcomed the eternal deluge. Their cups would overflow.

The yetis howled (a numbing sound), and the smaller folk looked up at them - any instinct to flee or fear was gone. A knowing glance, moments of understanding, and the lithe keepers of the mountains ambled off peaceably. In the distance great multi-coloured shooting stars zipped across the heavens, and even from here their great sound could be heard - [i]pewww... pewwwwww... pewwwwwww[/i]. But the [i]I[/i] had returned, and ah, what a terrible thing was the [i]I[/i], for even now the lizardfolk, those itztli, gathered one about the other and, with a glance to the other smallfolk, set out on their own into the jungles. The human women and the desertmen watched them go sadly.

A stomach rumbled. Somiti sighed and rubbed her tummy. The song of the world fed the soul and filled the cup, but oh! the glutt'nous stomach asked for more. And as though hearing her silent song, fish threw themselves upon the shore and the desertmen and the human women ate. And it seemed natural to them then that they should stay together - why yes, damn the [i]I[/i].