[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjcyLjE4MjEzZi5UV0ZzWlhadmJHVnVZMlUsLjAAAA,,/gondess-demo.regular.png[/img]
[h3][sup]A Collab Between [@yoshua171] & [@AdorableSaucer][/sup][/h3][hr][/center]
Slithering tendrils of subtle, dark-hued fog engulfed the dust and detritus of the dark moon’s pale inanimate facade. It pressed forth, obscuring the smooth surface for many miles, growing vast as the God of Dreams intruded upon Gibbou's chosen realm. The leavings of the Goddess lay strewn about in haphazard fashion, evidence of her weakness, and her folly. Uncaring and unrepentant, the Dreaming God grasped these and--with a flicker of emotion--reduced those mockeries to ash and then to nothing.

Treading forth, the Unnamed Presence cast its attention far afield, taking in the essence of the place and the recollections it invoked.
[hr]An act of kindness, repaid by a gift of scant atonement for actions not yet made. A flash of sorrow and confusion--
[hr]The Presence cast away the thoughts with viciousness as it reached its destination. Before him was a vast glassine enclosure, black in the dark-clad locale of the moon-bound realm. Heedless, he raised a hand and pressed a fingertip against the pane of glass, and [i]pushed[/i]. A distinctive sound rang out into the silence of Moon God's realm, echoing throughout. It was the sound of cracking glass. Without hesitation, the Dreaming God pressed forth, and before the tremendous might of his deific vessel did the glassine prison break.

Yet, the barrier remained, though it no longer impeded his progress deeper into her realm. In his wake, many things appeared to freeze or wither as if affected by the great chill beyond the dome. Through many halls, and past a great many rooms--some sealed, others yawning open--did the Dreamer walk. Each brought to him new information that he could not have otherwise possessed. Such was the cost of his absence and the separation of the gods from Galbar and the rest of their creations.

Eventually, led by the sounds of hopeless sobbing and the distinctness of a once-felt essence, the Thrice-Named God came upon the Goddess he had sought. She was a pitiful thing, really. Small and replete with the suffering of deluded self-loathing and long frustration. Even as she watched she raged against the world, shattering the glass of a bottle she had emptied.

[i]Distasteful,[/i] thought the Presence and its displeasure was soon made known.

As with the lands outside the dome, a miasma did encroach upon her room, devouring the light, and burning at the edges of her vision--warping all it touched. The haze gathered about the Dreaming God and limned him like a second skin, his form bright against the essence despite its void-black hue.

Then, when all that seemed to remain were the Goddess and the Presence, the emptiness spoke.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Why?"[/b][/color] It asked, the sound a hollow earthquake 'gainst her ears. "Wisdom did we give to you, so many eons past," it said, and its voice was filled with sorrow, rage, and woe.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Yet still you cannot see, though eyes you surely possess."[/b][/color]

[color=#234C5F][b]"Why?!"[/b][/color] the Presence rumbled. The glass of that vast Sanctuary clattered at the fury in its voice.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Is it fear?"[/b][/color] He asked. [color=#234C5F][b]"Insecurity,"[/b][/color] it wondered, knowing well the answer.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Indeed,"[/b][/color] it mused, the Presence stepping towards its sibling, [color=#234C5F][b]"...perhaps you are frightened of the light that dwells within, waiting to be harnessed."[/b][/color]

Crossing the distance laid between them, the Dreamer left scant feet to separate their forms. There he loomed, too large even for the great hall in which they'd reunited, though his form touched not the arching ceiling of the dome. There he did remain, awaiting her reply, perhaps hoping that she might betray his expectation, though doubting that she would.

In the corner of the dome, lying on a frozen-over blanket surrounded by empty bottles, glasses, pots, and drinking horns, a small, humanoid figure stirred to life. It did not face the Dreamer, but the raging heat bubbling atop her skin revealed just what sort of expression she could be wearing. [colour=lightblue]”... Listen, you fuck… I’ve had a really, really, really bad day. You comin’ in here, cracking open my house and killing all my plants and pets when there is a perfectly good door -right- over there…”[/colour] She thumbed over her shoulder with murderous intention. [colour=lightblue]“... That was the last straw.”[/colour]

With that, she disappeared, the last flickers of light in the realm disappearing into an all-encompassing void so dark and silent that the Dreamer could not even hear himself think. The shadows of the black moon gripped his incorporeal form as though it was as tangible as skin and bone, and two bloodshot eyes with pupils like the blood moon provided the only light in the darkness, meeting the Three-Named god’s open hood with a wicked quiver to them. The portal out wasn’t behind him anymore - it had seemingly disappeared. The eyes glanced over him with disgust. [colour=lightblue]”What sort of sick bastard does that, hmm? Waltzes into someone’s home, breaks all their stuff, and starts moralizing the owner? Who does that kind of shit? Are you that kind of person, Aich? Are you?”[/colour] The darkness tightened like the gravity of a black home. Gibbou scoffed. [colour=lightblue]”I haven’t seen you for two thousand years and when you finally come to say hi, maybe hang out, you do this… How about I just return you to the Lifeblood right now and you won’t have to come back.”[/colour] There came a single giggle. [colour=lightblue]”I’d be lying if I said that wringing some rude cunt’s neck wouldn’t sound just perfect right now…”[/colour] There was a pause. [colour=lightblue]”Well, speak up, bitch! WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?!”[/colour] The darkness on his mind and voice lifted.

Suspended in the black-clad fury of the Goddess, the Dreaming God remained placid as if within the eye of a great storm--untouched. The sensation of a smile pressed its way out into the black, followed swiftly by the miasma of his essence, spreading 'cross the surface of the Moon. Gone was the sorrow from the waters of her mind.

Deep beneath the rage, there was the agony of loss and the sorrow of her plight. [color=#234C5F][b]"Lost in the dregs of your emotions, you fail to see,"[/b][/color] replied the Unnamed Presence, his voice bereft of fear or feeling.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Drowned by sorrow, the imaginings of madness are writ upon your world."[/b][/color]

With a gentle sternness, the Dreamer cast away the black curtain to reveal the truth of things.

The ice had fled, its chilling embrace gone, and with its absence life remained--singing with stasis song. Pausing, the Eldritch God pondered her many queries, considering its reply.  For mere moments did the silence last, before the Thrice-Named God--the Unnamed Presence--deigned give the Goddess a singular response.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Aicheil is gone,"[/b][/color] the Presence said, its utterance a curse.

[color=#234C5F][b]"I am Mhaireann,"[/b][/color] the Presence said, its words a twisted blessing.

[colour=lightblue]”Shitty last words,”[/colour] spat the eyes. [colour=lightblue]”You even manage to make killing you seem like a chore.”[/colour] Within seconds, the darkness dissipated. The grip on the Dreaming God disappeared, and as what little light there was on the Dark Side of the Moon returned, it revealed the small, plum-skinned woman with chalk-white eyes, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a corner of her home, one hand propping up her head and the other holding a bottle. [colour=lightblue]”Tell me what you want so you’ll leave.”[/colour]

[color=#234C5F][b]"Yet I remain,"[/b][/color] Mhaireann replied, dry amusement in its tone. Drifting lightly to the ground, the Dreaming God folded its legs and sat across from the blue-skinned goddess. With deliberate slowness its eyes opened to meet her pallid gaze. Where before his eyes had been golden-hued and filled to brimming a deluge of spiralling color, now they seemed drained of life. To meet his stare one was forced to stare into the empty pits where once his eyes had been. Within the darkness of his eyeless gaze something stirred, but the movement was filled with wrongness. It moved at impossible angles, defying all reason or common sense.

[color=#234C5F][b]"I express to you the sentiment of the fragments whose souls I have replaced."[/b][/color] The miasma frothed about him, writhing upwards like tendrils of sickly smoke. [color=#234C5F][b]"In the age of our first meeting a gift was given unto your Firstborn child. In exchange was asked only that you forgive transgressions yet to pass."[/b][/color]

He let the statement sit in silence between them. The silence said, [i]Remember you, this thing?[/i]

[colour=lightblue]”What, you’re checkin’ in that voucher now? For coming in here and making it look like you blew up my house just to get my attention? Alright, fine - I’m not mad anymore. In fact, I was never mad. Killing you and grinding you into itty-bitty pieces of ghostly cape or whatever you wear, did not cross my mind in the slightest. I [i]forgive[/i] this stupid, heartless and outright unnecessary attack on my personal privacy, as a thanks for the lightshow and all that.”[/colour] She had a swig of the bottle, its nut-brown content bubbling with every gulp. She dragged her fist across her jaw and stifled a hiccup. [colour=lightblue]”And now you -better- hurry up and say what you want, ‘cuz now your good boy-card is spent, ghost man.”[/colour]

Though perhaps a solemn fragment of the Dreamer might have once felt amusement at the display of his sibling-god, Mhaireann seemed to grow cold instead, the air about them becoming utterly still. As its gaze lay then upon her, its emptiness seemed a deeper, darker, thing. Malicious, hungry and filled with unsung wrath.

In the still air, the sickly fog began to dance and weave. At first it was formless and indistinct, but as the seconds passed two figures resolved themselves within the curling eddies of the essence. They were each distinct in shape, one the shape of Love and War and Sin, the other of Night and Protection. The figures, though small and writ of sickly fog, swiftly recreated the scenes of conflict that had occurred not so long ago.

Mhaireann raised its empty eyes from the display and met Gibbou's baleful glare.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Am I to fear your wrath, sister, when this is all it can dole out?"[/b][/color]

Mhaireann lashed out then, its fingers like talons, cutting through the image of the fight. All at once he was standing, mere inches from her face, empty orbs piercing past her fury, a wreath of miasma splayed out behind his form.

[color=#234C5F][b]"No,"[/b][/color] he whispered, but the essence of her realm it shuddered with the vibration of his voice. He drew back from her, looming as he stared out of the glassy dome. [color=#234C5F][b]"I came, knowing of this failing, seeking to right this wrong."[/b][/color]

His gaze drifted down and met hers once more. [color=#234C5F][b]"Unless you would remain as you are. [i]Pitiful and weak.[/i] Crushed by the weight upon your shoulders, would you deny my assistance?"[/b][/color]

Though harsh, there was something to his words, his actions. As if he were chiding her, not because she was pathetic, but rather out of love though perhaps twisted was its shape. Nonetheless, the feeling in the air, it spoke of such a thing.

Gibbou’s eyes lost no animosity; in fact, they only seemed to redden with fury and blue with sorrow. [colour=lightblue]”Wow. You come into my home - the only place I feel truly safe and at peace - and you wake me up in the rudest possible manner and call me mean shit. And then you go out on a whim and say -I- need help.”[/colour] Her head shook slowly from side to side. [colour=lightblue]”I don’t even know what to say to that. We don’t talk for two thousand years and then you show up here with that attitude. Not even Thaa was this mean - at least he didn’t attack me as a person (much). You’re closer to Neiya, really, you fucking asshole. No, you know what? I’m not going to take this.”[/colour] She turned to face the wall and thumbed over her shoulder. [colour=lightblue]”The door’s that way. Do me a favour and slam your face against the portal frame when you leave so I know you’re gone - if your corporeal ass even works like that.”[/colour] She then gave her bottle a sip and sighed deeply.

His response was a strange, deep, reverberating chuckle and a dancing haze of fog. It swayed and flowed in motion with the laugh, then slowly grew still and cold. There was silence for a time. It was long and without mercy or any sign of an emotion.

Yet, it was not the quiet of departure. It was not a sound of loneliness or loss. It was the stretched patience of an elder wishing only to impart an important lesson. In the miasma was writ his great disappointment, as it became as black as oil, or pitch, or a starless, moonless night that fire nor lightning dared to touch. Yet somehow it grew darker still, its haze seething gently where it had settled upon the surface of the floor.

Within the endless depths of emptiness of the Dreamer’s visage, which had once been made of starlight, angry crimson fractures formed. He took a step towards the goddess, but as his foot came down he went utterly and truly still.

White and blue cracks slowly formed over the surface of his cosmic flesh and they warred with the red clashing. The tension in the air grew about his form and it would feel almost as if a storm was threatening to break. However, with time the many fractures in his facade diminished until there was a flash of not-light. A psychic impression of sorts. The ground beneath him cracked with a sickening sound and the tension was released all at once.

[color=#234C5F][b]“Very well,”[/b][/color] the Unnamed Presence said, its voice devoid of all emotion. It turned from the Goddess of the Night and made its way out the door. However, upon the ground on which he’d stood was left behind a message.

From the cracks, written in desperation by the cracks, were these words.

[i]“Hateful Malevolence.”

“Pain.”

“Help.”[/i]

The jet-black fog shied away from those words, replaced instead by the sensation of the Dreaming God’s essence. Perhaps if she paid attention, she might notice the difference between the Unnamed One and this familiar emanation.

But she didn’t - at least, not for the time it took Aicheil to leave. The moon goddess simply sat facing the corner like before, tapping her knee with an increasingly impatient finger as she waited for the presence to leave. Her blueberry hair, black as could ever be in the shadow of her moon, started to curl ever so slightly with stress for every second the Dreaming God took to exit. Eventually, there came an angry growl, followed by a sentence like a ball of nasty spit: “Are you gone yet?”

There was no reply except for the empty silence of her realm. The maddened essence of that Unnamed Presence had departed leaving behind only the message and the faint traces of Aicheil's more familiar aspects. Gibbou gave her bottle another slurp and noticed the letters on the floor. [colour=lightblue]”Pfft… If you wanted help, you should’ve opened with that… Dumbass…”[/colour] With that, she continued what she had been doing before: sobbing into her bottle and making sloppy moon-clay models of stuff on Galbar. She had gotten quite good at it, all things considered, shaping walls to be quite nice - perhaps even nicer than they were in reality. She gave her bottle yet another sip, but found that it was empty. She sniffed and smacked her lips in disappointment.

At least she was good at building walls - just as good physically as… Interpersonally…

She had to chase away those thoughts somehow. Quickly, she took a handful of mud and shaped it into a tower in her hands, placing it down on the ground. Then, on its own, it suddenly started levitating, hovering over to a nearby rock and suddenly starting to patrol around it. Gibbou watched curiously as the clay tower then started chasing away curious moon bugs that came over to inspect the stone, as though the tower had declared the stone to be its treasure.

[colour=lightblue]”Cool,”[/colour] mumbled Gibbou.

[hr]
[sub][i]Meanwhile, down in the Prairie...[/i][/sub]

“OH GODS, WHAT IS THAT?!” screamed Manjahi as a number of [url=https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/000/281/847/large/155668__Arcane_Lighthouse_.jpg?1414975337]colossal, white towers[/url] came floating across the prairie, furiously blasting his community with beams of fire. Since forever had their people lived at the food of the Umbasi, the Great Red Rock of the Yellow Sea; now, out of nowhere, a pack of what appeared to be tall marble pillars topped with a singular, many-pupilled, golden eye were chasing them off with brutal magics. Terror swept the village as the floating towers leveled everything and burned anything they could see, turning the plains on which Manjahi’s family had lived for centuries, into a smoking wasteland. Manjahi himself had barely managed to evacuate his family and some more, and they watched with stinging eyes as the towers approached the Great Red Rock slowly and, as though protecting an enormous egg, began nuzzling and caring for it while others in their, for the lack of a better word, pack patrolled around the vicinity.

Manjahi swallowed. “Gods help us…”
[hr]Gibbou, of course, didn’t notice any of this. She gave the tower a wet poke and recoiled as it zapped her hand with a small beam of light - or rather, the pain came more from the sudden flash than from the beam itself. The protective behaviour of the tower gave her an idea, however: She would create the perfect guardians - this time, it’d be someone who’d do guardian work as part of a contract! It’d be perfect!

The ultimate sentinel! 

She got to work rolling up a ball of clay, then attaching limbs and eyes - a lot of limbs and a lot of eyes. The darkness around her intensified further as day turned to night (though it was always dark in her realm). Her creation would be amazing! She’d show them all. She put some eyes at the ends of the limbs, too - why not - a few extra mouths, too, to scare off any bad guys.

Boy, this was turning into quite a project!
[hr][sub][i]Meanwhile, down in the forests east of Solkra...[/i][/sub]

“Fuck, Amestrius… I’m actually getting scared now. Are we lost or not?”

“I’m telling you, Gaius! I have control! The checkpoint shouldn’t be too far up.” The two hunters were, in truth, utterly lost in the woods. Neither of them had ever been this far away from their village, and both were scared of the same thing: that they had entered Iskrill territory. They were running low on food, for the game they had been hunting had long since run off, and night had fallen for real, darkness swallowing up even the brightest shades of moonlight.

There came a snap of a twig. Gaius jumped. “Did you hear that?!”

“By Cadien, relax, Gaius,” Amestrius soothed. “It was probably just… Just something.”

“What something?” came a sharp retort.

“Not Iskrill nor wolves, at least… Probably. Now hurry up, or we might actually -get- some of those on our tail!” The two quickened their pace. There came another snap of twigs and they stopped, now both equally sweaty with fear.

“W-was that a wolf, you think?”

Amestrius gulped. “... A whole pack in that case.”

“... I… I think I just pissed myself.”

The snapping twigs grew louder… Then branches began to snap. 

“Oh fuck… Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

Trees were run down like grasses of straw.

“RUN!” The two set off into a sprint. Behind them, the thunder of ravaging forest intensified, sending thousands of birds flying and hordes of forest critters fleeing alongside them.

“I-- I cah--!” panted Gaius and Amestrius stopped to help his brother. It was too late, however - the approaching shadow was right behind him.

“NO! GAIUS!”

The next few moments happened in a daze. Both Gaius and Amestrius could barely move as they witnessed the creature before them: It was enormous - larger than a building. It had eyes… Just… Eyes… Too many to count - half were of a blind, milky white, and it was hard to decide whether those were creepier than the other hundred or so with pupils of every colour, staring curiously down at the two brothers. Its three-four-five mouths opened and closed at different intervals, and its tens of limbs all did half-friendly attempts to wave, which through some eldritch power seemed possible even in the complete darkness.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey…” wheezed the [url=https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/023/344/927/large/sanna-hauskala-096-beholderclumppub.jpg?1578918172]the Beholder[/url], and three of its mouths formed grins of varying creepiness. Amestrius took this chance to also piss himself. The creature paid it no mind and rubbed together two pairs of palms. “Saaaay… Are you two in the market for a bodyguard, by chance?”

[hider=Summary]The Dreaming God pays Gibbou a visit after over 2000 years, thinking to perhaps teach her a better way to confront Neiya, but alas there is something deeply wrong with his approach...and him as well. Things swiftly devolve into insulting one another back and forth--though perhaps one more dignified than the other, as is understandable given Gibbou’s current emotional condition.

The two do not part on good terms, but a mysterious message remains, with a more familiar essence attached to it. Unfortunately, in her anger and sorrow, Gibbou largely dismisses it and returns to her work. In the process of processing her own sadness and failure--as she sees it--she gains a new understanding and at once creates two new species upon Galbar: Beholders and Watchtowers.
[hr]Two mortals far beyond any settlement and thoroughly lost in the darkness of the woods are accosted by a Beholder, who promptly propositions them to become a bodyguard. Who knows how that will turn out.[/hider]
[hider=Might Summary][hider=█████████][u]Start:[/u] 5MP, 2DP.

No Might Expended.

[u]End:[/u] 5MP, 2DP.[/hider]
[hider=Gibbou][u]Start:[/u] 5MP, 5DP.

-3MP: Claim portfolio - Walls: Walls are a settlement’s defense against danger, and a key structure in most larger towns and cities. Whether they be made of wood, stone or something harder, all serve the same purpose - to protect that which lies within. Gibbou is here given the power to more easily construct and maintain walls, as well as the deeper knowledge to teach mortals to do the same.

-2DP: Create extraordinary species - Watchtowers: Watchtowers are towers of living marble topped with a single, multi-pupilled golden eye that can blast beams of fire upon those the towers deem to intrude upon their communal territory or precious ward. They live off of protecting whatever they fancy, from fancy stones to small critters, and can, potentially, be conditioned to guard people, as well. They are incredibly hard to kill, their metallic eye being their only weak point that mortals have any hope of harming. They reproduce when they have protected their target until its death, at which point, the energy of that life will transfer into the eye and make the tower ”cough up” another tower. The smaller the soul, however, the less it contributes to a new tower, so towers guarding an anthill might see thousands of generations pass without being able to reproduce, while one guarding a dragon will be able to reproduce on the first death. 2 oudda 5 for Sentinel Port.

-3DP: Create extraordinary species: The Beholders: Class A bodyguards and protectors, there are truly no better species to hire whether that is to protect your loot, your castle, yourself - whatever. The Beholders neither eat nor sleep, subsisting entirely on the gratitude and appreciation of their contractors to do what they’ve been told, which usually is to protect. All they live for is to make sure you and your family are safe and sound. They murder everything that threatens you and your way of life with extreme brutality, positioning their corpses on the location of your choosing so you can watch them rot in the sun from the comfort of your own home. The Beholder is yours for hire - all you need to offer in exchange is your gratitude and appreciation, and keep in mind that to ignore your Beholder’s needs may result in a termination of your contract through termination of you. {5 oudda 5 for Sentinel port.}

-2MP: Confer special ability on species: Allow the Beholders to manipulate darkness and shadows to use as shields, weapons and projectiles. 

[u]End:[/u] 0MP, 0DP.[/hider][/hider]
[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjcyLjE4MjEzZi5RMjlzYkhWemFXOXUuMAAAAAAA/gondess-demo.regular.png[/img]
[h3][sup]A Collab Between [@yoshua171] & [@King of Rats][/sup][/h3][hr][/center]
Yamat knew not how to identify the sudden intrusion, that strange almost maddening fog and that summons by a long-forgotten voice and form. They did not know truly what had occurred, but several ideas had sprung up into their mind, it was most certainly not one of their other allies and no other god had such an impact that made even the Great Director intrigued. That's when it hit them, it had been so long since they had heard anything of the God of Dreams, now it looked like they had awoken and decided to stop by, perfect timing. The Director rose from their seat and with a flourishing bow spoke.

[color=DAA250]”A pleasure to meet you, it's been a while since I’ve had a visitor to my lovely domain, so tell me, God of Dreams, what brings you out of your silence? It's been long since I’ve heard from you, or your twin.”[/color] Their head turned in a curious manner as they rose from their bow, the one eye eagerly awaiting the response. 

With lidded eyes the Dreamer regarded the bowed form of that Tragic Chaos God, finding its words each as empty as the last. Imperious and foreboding, the Thrice-Named God--the Unnamed Presence--gave not the slightest in obeisance, forgoing the illusion of politeness. Yet in the raucous cacophony of wind was revealed the intensity of his attention, for the words--as if solid things--were caught in their embrace and dashed across the endless wastes. Discarded.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Your highest muse I summoned. Yet these are naught but empty platitudes and needless queries,"[/b][/color] replied the unnamed presence, its voice a thunder bereft of lightning's spark. The miasma of his essence whirled about them then, spreading far and wide, eclipsing the sky and stone and sand of Yamat's wasteland of a home. Remaining in the silence was a constant droning tune, the dread-wind's terror moan.

With an unseen tell, a gesture implying psychic might, the nameless presence let loose a flash of rage. In an instant the coiling streams of wind and dread took on a crimson tint, lashing upwards at the sky. Gashes of painful essence rent across the heavens of the realm of Tragedy, giving rise to a quiet knowledge. Beneath the placid mask of the Dreaming God's facade, there dwelled a sleeping beast whose wrath was barely kept at bay.

With his intent laid bare to see, the presence gestured idly with a hand and with swiftness the sky's blood drained away. What remained was naught but many rifts upon the torn flesh of that solemn empty sky. Withdrawing from his sibling-god the dread-wind cast itself outwards and away, banishing the miasma within which the Dreaming God had stayed.

With deliberate slowness, the lidded gaze of the Dreamer turned down and met Yamat's single glowing orb.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Upon dream's tapestries I've seen the many threads of tragedy you've sown,"[/b][/color] he said as if no insult or barb had been prior laid. The presence gestured with a hand and the dread-wind obeyed, carrying in its embrace the miasmic currents of the Dreamer's might. That power it spiraled out and deepened, depicting swiftly a breed of mortal to which Yamat alone could lay claim.

[color=#234C5F][b]"The Iskrill,"[/b][/color] he began, the words of that unknown presence entrapped by the dis-ease and fear of many mortal minds. [color=#234C5F][b]"Unto them, I will bestow a boon."[/b][/color]

Though he did not ask, there remained a question beneath those simple words. Still, the Dreamer spoke instead as if it was meant as a command.

The director nodded, the display shown by the dream god was interesting, to say the least, and not at all what they had expected. But, they could work with this. [color=DAA250]“A boon you say? Well, I’m sure they would appreciate the aid, especially with that whelp Cadien mucking about.”[/color] With a flourish they spun around, and with a wave of their hand brought the mighty canopy where they would spend their days closer. They came upon the great map that sat upon their table and spoke once more to their guest, though admittedly while still staring upon the board. [color=DAA250]“What is it you’re thinking of bestowing?”[/color]

The dread-wind calmed at the response of the Chaos God as if to imply a faint shift in the nameless one's demeanor. Approaching, the figure loomed high beside Yamat as it cast its attention upon the map. He laid a long-fingered hand across the surface of the board and the dread-wind's currents coiled about its shape, before writhing across the surface of the substance. Though filled to brimming with pigmentation, the churning wind did little to obscure the great map's surface, seeming only to add to the detail of its construction. [color=#234C5F][b]"Know you of my creations?"[/b][/color]

As if to clarify, the churning winds took form, depicting briefly a myriad of swiftly shifting shapes. Ever-growing, their formless eyes held within them a hunger unending in its bounds, each ruled by a singular emotion upon which they'd often sup.

A god, regarding them for any length of time, might come to know their dreaded name.

[i]Chomhlíonadh. The Unfulfilled.[/i]

The director nodded, wiping some stray black sludge from their eye. [color=DAA250]“I know bits of your creations, I have heard of their, capabilities, though never truly seen them in action myself.”[/color] They slowly sat into their chair, with a wave of a hand creating a cup of tea and saucer, which they drank ever strangely, never taking off their mask. They looked up towards the god of dreams, silently encouraging them to explain further.

Attention shifting, the hidden gaze of that Dreaming God turned to meet Yamat's. His hand raised from the board and swept across its surface, splitting the miasma of his essence. Then, slowly the essence gathered into colored mounds, revealing Perfection's human brood. As seconds passed the colors changed, shifting to crimson hue.

"My creations, they feast upon the minds of mortals without direction or restraint," explained the Unnamed Presence as it gazed eyeless 'pon the map. "With this boon, your children, they may summon such a thing to aid their growing horde." Though expressionless, the presence seemed to smile, the air about them changing as if joyful at the thought.

Yamat too seemed to smile, though their mask hid any true emotion. [color=DAA250]“Now that, would be a beautiful boon.”[/color] They took another sip of their tea before continuing. [color=DAA250]“Oh to see the look on those Acadians...now, of course, I must ask, how safe would my children be? I understand your creations can rarely be controlled, but I’m sure you understand the need for safety, not that much of a boon if it could wipe out your own forces.”[/color]

Chuckling, a dark cast to the essence of his form, the Presence gathered the miasma 'bout his visage. That dark fog pushed out before him and writhed into the Dreamer's desired shape, forming a detailed depiction of an Iskrill horde, the Chomhlionachd looming large above them. [color=#234C5F][b]"This gift, it will protect their essence from the intrusion of my creations."[/b][/color]

[color=#234C5F][b]"In exchange,"[/b][/color] the Nameless Presence said, its voice a soothing thrum, [color=#234C5F][b]"...the Iskrill will not devour all the humans that they kill."[/b][/color]

The director nodded [color=DAA250]”I see,”[/color] They looked upon their own board, picking a specific piece, that of an iskrill, one hand aloft holding an axe, another holding a shield, emblazoned upon it a golden sun. [color=DAA250]”And what would you have them do with those they do not devour?”[/color]

With a gesture, a diagram was drawn upon the map, showing Yamat the place to which the bodies must be moved. [color=#234C5F][b]“Buried in the earth,”[/b][/color] intoned the Dreaming God.

[color=#234C5F][b]“They will guard an edifice of my making.”[/b][/color]

[color=DAA250]”I see, a simple enough task, is this all you desire as compensation for this boon?”[/color] They took another sip of tea, placing the Iskrill piece back on its spot in the highlands of Toraan.

Thoughts turning inward, the Dreaming God pondered his Chaos-brother's query. The dread wind about his form spread out as he lost focus on its movements and it carried far the miasma that wreathed his form. Seconds passed, then minutes, before finally the Dreamer roused, his presence touching something far off in the realm of Yamat's making.

[color=#234C5F][b]"Within the Wastelands of your realm there dwells a roiling sea. Of its parasitic waters I would take a brood to call my own."[/b][/color] Faintly, a sense of content amusement washed over the God of Tragedy, the dread-wind stirring faintly as it gathered once more around the pair.

[color=DAA250]”Ah yes, the demon pit, feel free to take as many as you desire, there is an unlimited supply of them within that pit, they will fill the hole within seconds.”[/color] They gestured off into the distance of their realm, towards a great valley in between two mountains [color=DAA250]”I believe it is over there.”[/color]

Turning to Yamat, the Dreamer laid a hand upon the shoulder of the smaller god. Opening its eyes, he revealed empty pits like pure emptiness staring back at the Divine Director. The moment did not last and the Unnamed Presence turned away, shutting fast its eyes against the world, its touch departing just as swiftly. In a flurry of sickly color, the Dreaming God then cast itself across that Wasteland-realm, the dread-wind swiftly scooping up the brood that to the Presence had been gifted.

Then, in a single blurring motion, the God of Dreams rose high into the sky, its form growing far vaster than the blackened sun. Essence shifting through the veil, the Dreamer delivered unto the Iskrill a most frightening boon.

[hr]
Corruscating hues and vibrant emotions pressed themselves to-and-fro like many waves in an endless ocean of minds. Disorganized, but content, they were not prepared for the tremendous malevolence of their creator’s passing. So it was that the gentle swirling of that Endless Dream was churned into a maelstrom of terror and emotion.

A slipstream current carried the Presence through the mire that was created by its presence, carrying him to the many minds of Yamat’s chosen mortals.

Like a horrid pallid smile made with twisting lips, the eldritch god was pleased by how events had transpired with the God of Tragedy. So with this dark-borne pleasure, the Dreaming God lashed out and struck the countless minds of the Iskrill Horde. With a terrible confounding twisting motion of his will, the Presence gathered many ideas, forms, and things. These he bound unto their minds and wrought from them a power.

It was built from that which had been for some time prior. From the abstracted bond that made demons heed a conjurer’s callous call and from those infinite connections that within the Subtle Weave exist. With these parts drawn together into, the Nameless Presence crafted the Iskrill’s boon.

Satisfied, he pulled back--observing--leaving many of their ilk dazed, terrified, and confused. Scores fell in battle that day, but it was a pittance before the terror that they wrought to repay their enemy’s evil acts. With a frightening swiftness, the Presence noted, the Iskrill drew upon their gift and called forth what had once been Aicheil’s [i]get[/i]. With a ferver, the Chomhlíonadh tore through the ranks of a menagerie of mortals, stripping them of their will. For without a mind, they could not act, survive, or kill.

Buoyed by their success, the Dread God, [i]Mhaireann[/i] withdrew.

[hr]
Then, with a flash of black and red and sickly green he vanished, departing the Black-sun Wastes.

[hider=Summary]The Dreaming God calls upon Yamat in his realm, the two converse briefly and form a pact of sorts. The Dreamer promises to bestow a boon unto the Iskrill, that they might summon and guide the Unfulfilled. In exchange, he requests that the Iskrill not devour all those they kill, instead burying some amount in a place of his choosing, their bodies meant to surround the holy ground of a monument yet to be made. Additionally, he asks to receive a brood of demons from the Pit of Yamashin.

Yamat, graciously, accepts the deal. Satisfied, the Dreamer bestows his gift, takes what he came for, and departs.

Yet...he does not seem as he was before and his actions reveal--in part--why.[/hider]
[hider=Might Summary][hider=█████████][u]Start:[/u] 5MP, 2DP.

-1DP (Discounted by Tessellation) -- Confer an Extraordinary Ability (The Iskrill) / Summon/Guide the Chomhlíonadh.

[u]End:[/u] 5MP, 1DP.[/hider]
[hider=Yamat]No might was spent.[/hider][/hider]