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[img]https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSQflg-z9nQOc9a6bCHFtrSb4lRpHccGrYNtw&usqp=CAU[/img]
[h1]Jiugui[/h1]
[h3]Missed the Mark, Sort Of[/h3]
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[hr]
The trajectory he had taken had been calculated, but man, Jiugui was bad at math. Aiming for the tropical centre, he had completely missed the mark - and it had been in the absolutest sense of ‘completely’. He had missed his target by nearly a hemisphere, no less than five thousand kilometres, crashing through the atmosphere of the icy north and smashing into a frozen lake, or was it a sound? He had no idea, for he was deep underwater, trapped in an ocean of newborn kelp. The drunk man squealed and screamed for air, until he realised, quite quickly, that he could breathe just fine. Taking a moment to collect himself as best he could, the drunk snailed his way into an approximation of a swim (with one hand holding his cup, naturally) and crawled for the surface.

“[i]HHUUUUUUAAAAAAAGH[/i]” he gasped upon breaking the surface, water and wine splashing everywhere like a sudden rain. The man offered some petty coughs as he flopped his way to the nearest beach, a rocky bed of pebbles leading to a thick, dark forest of conifers just as deep as the water he swam in, if not deeper. Hauling himself onto the beach, he rolled over on his back and groaned from the bottom of his throat. His skin was red with wine and cold, and his white robes were soaked so they stuck to his skin and turned a pinkish hue. Drawing in a deep breath, the man attempted to sit up. His fat belly got in the way, so he tried again; once more, he failed. Fed up with the limitations of his physical form, Jiugui had the wind sweep him from the ground and onto his feet, and the wind answered. The drunk was swept to his feet, which naturally had no balance and made him stagger backwards off the beach and straight into a tree.

[i]SMOCK![/i]

The god shook his head, lazy eyes gazing at the imprint he had made in the bark - an egg-like shape with four limbs sticking out like branches on a bush. He chuckled to himself.

“Rad..”

But then he looked up - the tree just, it just kept on going. He turned around. All around him, trees grew tall as the sky. And they quivered…

For between them walked giants - creatures larger than anything Jiugui had ever seen since he had gazed upon his colleagues in the Sunlight Temple, which to be fair was also the only other things he had ever seen. Either way, the god stood struck by awe, admiring the majesty of a bypassing mammoth and an overhead flock of colossal bats that blotted out the sky. The bass of thundering feet was ever-present around him, and the howl of giants danced on the wind like a powerful song. The drunk god burst out into laughter and raised his self-filling cup.

[centre][h3]”Zenia mush shee thish! Whadda place to PARDY!”[/h3][/centre]

He hammered down shot after shot and eventually invited some cave bears to join him. The bears got sloshed with him and invited the mammoths to join, who were reluctant at first, but couldn’t say no for longer than it took to ask thrice. By midnight, Jiugui had lit a small bonfire, and all the forest’s creatures had come to share in a joyous feast with wine, song and poetry. The newborn moon was at its peak at this hour and a section of the crowd that was not busy dancing or diving to the bottom of the punch bowl had gathered by the fire, where Trunks the Mammoth had knocked over some trees and formed a stage. There, Scarred Fur the Skald rose to her hind legs with some trouble - not even her fatty bear form could handle as much wine as Jiugui had poured her - but she pressed on and growled for the masses a [i]kvad[/i] for the occasion:

[centre][i]”Growl-rurr barr ryaaargh urr huarr byaarr;
Roooohr yewp gorr shrr rrrhherh drrrar yeeep;
Drrrr hrashr growlerr ror-aghr darr;
Durr rarr-krrr khorr garr-bark kheeep,”
[/i][/centre]

Many in the crowd shed tears, Jiugui included. “Magnifishent,” he whimpered. “Apssoludly mahnifffishent.” A nearby male stepped up from the crowd, head bowed in submission as he staggered over to sniff her from behind. Scarred Fur growled decisively - the male had earned no such permission. Some other males stepped up to challenge the first - Scarred Fur’s poetry had gotten more than one stud in the mood. Jiugui exchanged a smug smirk with a nearby bat, who only snickered back in ultrasound. The god stood up, falling onto the helpful trunk of a nearby mammoth who pushed him back up, and clapped his hands.

“Now, now, dish [sub]urrp![/sub] dish is a pardy, guysh!” He staggered over to the very angry, very drunk bears, and clapped them all on the shoulders. “Dish is no time to fiiiiiiiiiiighd, righ’?” He conjured forth some more wine cups in their paws. “Come now, have anozzer wizz me! Zhree, two, one - [i]ganbeeeeeeiiiiiii[/i]!”

The animals all roared their own sounds to toast and drank with the drunk god. This prevent conflict for all of four seconds, for as soon as the wine was drunk, one of the males slapped the other with a clawed paw. The beaten male keeled over on the spot, but more from the alcohol than the damage, it seemed. The assailant had little peace to balance out the weight of his blow before the third male attacked him. Then a dire wolf, face fur sticky with coagulated wine, joined in and jumped on the first male’s back, biting down on his back fat. Then came a dire boar to break up the fight, but he tripped over a passed-out sabre tooth tiger and straight into the drinking bowl of four giant eagles, who all flexed their wings in a drunken fury and screamed off the top of their beaks. A wooly rhino got into a furious debate with a colossal moose, probably over grazing rights or something, and got into a fight. Some reindeer who had come late all turned at the entrance point, and most of the animals who hadn’t had enough to drink yet all decided that now was the time to leave. Birds kicked off; grazers skipped; hunters ran; and Jiugui, well… Jiugui laid passed out in the centre of the fight scene, drunk as a skunk.

[hr]

The night had turned to day and the drinking god opened crusted eyes to stare into the white laser of the orb of death in the sky. He groaned in pain and rolled over - the moss was a kinder sight. He felt cold - particularly running down one leg and puddling around his calf and downwards. A drum played a war dance in his head, and the thought of a cup of water made him both sick and thirsty at the same time. Oh yes, this was a familiar feeling.

“Uhm… Lord? A-are you alright?”

The bulbous man blinked at the moss again, then lifted up his cup to give it a blink as well.

“Be-behind you, milord.”

The man groaned and mustered every muscle in his body to roll around. It was then that his sight got bombarded by a myriad of images he had no idea how to react to: In place of his brief, fragmented memory of yesterday’s forest, there was now a river where he laid (well, he had three quarters of his leg in it, anyway); many of the gigantic animals had left, and in their place were small rodents, insects and birds who had all showed up to inspect the man; and most notably were three taller rodents - much taller, but not even close to as tall as even the smallest of last night’s giants. They also seemed rodent-like, with huge incisors at the tip of their upper jaws. They sported thick brown coats of fur, two arms with little hands and two legs with large feet, and a flat, leathery tail each, which laid flat against the ground like a single flipper. They all looked concerned to different degrees, but the one at the front seemed the most eager to speak:

“M-milord, how are you feeling?”

The drunk god squinted suspiciously and pushed himself up to a seat. He blinked at the trio, then down at the small birds and animals, then at his leg in the river (which was being taste-tested by schools of curious fish) and then finally at his surroundings: It wasn’t just the woods, but his divine sight could see that lakes had appeared all over, connected by rivers and surrounded by marshlands - a great network of lakes, rivers and swamps had spread throughout the entire region. The drunk god asked the first question that came to mind:

“... Where am I…?”

The first of the trio piously answered, “Y-you’re sitting in the Glade of the Singing Maker, milord.”

The drunk god shook his hand with a large, lazy movement as though trying to get his wet and sloppy sleeve to pull away from his sweaty skin and fall down to his elbow. His cup materialised in the respective hand once his clothing obeyed and the cup filled with plain water. “Where’s, uh, where’s this glade?”

“Why, couldn’t say, milord. This land’s as new to us as you are to it.” A pause. “I-if I may be so bold to presume,” it quickly added.

The drunk god grimaced curiously at the answer, but let it slide. “Alright. Who’re you lot, then?” [i]Ssssssssslurrrrp,[/i] went his lips thoughtfully on edge of the water cup.

“Zwiéka,” said the first.

“Vislof,” said the second.

“Mosha,” said the third.

The drunk god nodded. “I see. And, uh, what’re you doing here, you said?” [i]Sssssssluuuuurrrp.[/i]

“We were created by the Singing Maker, milord. There were loads of us last night, but most have gone off to settle down, I suppose.” Zwiéka turned around and produced a small root from a tiny pile a step away. “Want a carrot, milord?”

The drunk god accepted. [i]Ssssssluuuuurp[/i]... [b]CRRRRRRRUNCH[/b], [i]rrrorrp, rrrorrp, rrrorp[/i], [b]glllump[/b]. “I see. And, uh, who’s this… ‘Singing Maker’ of yours?”

Vislof and Mosha looked at one another. Zwiéka twiddled his hands anxiously. “W-well… That’d be your honourable self, milord.”

[i]Sssssluuuuu-[/i]

The drunk god lowered his cup. His gaze turned away for a minute and his lips pursed with thought. After a moment of silence, Zwiéka tried again: “Milord?”

“I see,” replied the god curtly. The trio exchanged sheepish looks. “I get it now,” he added. It was madly obvious that he didn’t get it at all, but he did his best to look wise as he asked with whatever authority he could muster: “So, uh, do tell - what exactly happened last night?”

Once again, Zwiéka pulled her shoulders into a humble shrug. “Couldn’t say, milord. We don’t think we’ve existed for long enough to know much at all, really.” The other two nodded along.

Jiugui squinted. “So you’re saying none of you actually know what happened here?”

“Not a clue, milord. We came to life and, well, there were you, singing and dancing with all the joy in the world. Much more, we couldn’t say.”

Jiugui furrowed his brow. To think that the world changed so radically around him, and neither he nor his supposed creations would ever know what had happened.

[hider=They won’t, but you will. Lucky you.]
[i][u]A couple of hours earlier...[/u][/i]
About halfway through the fight, a charging musk ox managed to trample over Jiugui on his route to tackle a rowdy bison who had cruelly insulted his mother. The shock of a six-hundred kilo hoofstep was enough to barely, but effectively, stir the drunk god to life. He got up and clapped the side of his head to put out a handful of moss that had gotten stuck in his ear. He heard the commotion and cursed heartily under his breath.

“Shidd, yoo guysh… Magin’ so mussh noishe…” He rolled to his feet just in time to not get showered with an ocean moose blood as a bear ripped open the side of one. Jiugui had another cup of wine and squinted at the moon in the sky. Then he felt a pressure from within, squinted harder and nodded to himself. “Ogey… Thish ol’ slump’sh gozza go tage a leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeakch… Keep [sub]urk[/sub] ze pardy goin’ forz mee, a’righz?” He then staggered off to the music of animal roars and dying howls. “Oop, ‘zcuse me,” he mumbled as he bumped into a ravaged wolf carcass. After bumping into a few more things and corpses, Jiugui exited the festival grounds and staggered into the woods.

It took him a long while to find a good spot to relieve himself, and every few steps or so, he would stumble and nearly fall, spilling his wine all over. He didn’t realise in his stupor, but where the droplets fell, the earth became soft and soggy, turning into marshlands that offered great living grounds for insects and mollusks, and fantastic hunting grounds for birds and rodents, all of which appeared in the area. Flowers filled the landscape and even shrubberies spawned from the mushy ground. 

Sometimes Jiugui would trip and fall over completely, spilling all of his wine out across the landscape. Forests and land were washed away to make way for lakes large and small, which began to dot the landscape like holes in a cheese. Here gathered fish, otters, mollusks, birds, insects and amphibians, and water lilies and freshwater weeds created safe havens for the water-dwellers. The other giants who already inhabited the woods also came there to drink and hunt.

Then Jiugui encountered a ground sloth gnawing on a leaf. The drunk god, still jovially drunk, offered the sloth a drink. The sloth, happy to be noticed in such a friendly way, accepted, and immediately got sloshed with the drunk god. Together, they sang and shared their deepest emotions with one another like they had been friends since birth:

“Grrr-rorkh…” conceded the sloth with a sigh.

“Wow, sho brave…” lauded the drunk god.

After another few drinks, the sloth was much too wasted to carry on conversing, so the drunk god poured it another cup and said, “Ogey, lizz’n… Yew… Yew drzink dis, a’righz, ‘n, ‘n, ‘n, we dun f’d’nighd…” Then he, too, zonked out.

The sloth could barely move at this point, but took the cup and drank it all. It was in that instant that its drunkenness faded completely, and the sloth sat up with immediate concern. It poked Jiugui for answers, but the god would not stir. The sloth felt an odd scent and gave itself a whiff. It smelled like its cup, but even stronger. It sighed and tried to poke the god again to no avail. It would have poked yet again, but its stomach rumbled, and the sloth suddenly felt like a snack. As it lowered itself to all fours and walked off, it thought to itself: Hmm, maybe some fermented berries would be good!

Another hour passed and Jiugui stirred back to life. The pressure building up in his core was reaching critical levels, so he had to find himself a good spot soon, or he would burst. More marshes and lakes appeared as the god continued his journey. Then at last, he found it - the perfect spot. It was a beautiful glade overlooking a lake in the distance; woods surrounded it with an aura of serenity, and the moon shone upon it just right. The drunk god was satisfied, so he walked over to a tree and [i]adjusted[/i] his robes.

Soon thereafter, rivers formed between the lakes and marshes, connecting the region with great networks of water through which the fish, birds and detritus could travel into the sea. These, too, became channels of life, as they filled with anadromous fish that laid their eggs in the river, but lived mainly in the sea. Freshwater crustaceans took up refuge in the brackwater, and land-dwelling animals came to the rivers to hunt and drink as they did with the lakes. 

The drunk god eventually felt the pressure subside, but then eventually felt something else fight for its exit - something on the other side, so to speak. He grimaced and looked around - there, in the centre of the glade, was a perfect, singular shrub. It would do as cover.
[hr]
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“Milord?” asked Zwiéka to the contemplative god, her dark brown fur glistening with moisture like that of a, well, a beaver. 

The god snapped back to reality. “Huh? Hmm?” 

“Not meaning to pry or anything, but what will you be doing now?” The three otters gazed upon him with anxious, yet obviously well-awed eyes. The drunk god scratched his head and looked around.

“Well, uh, I don’t know. Guess I’ll look for Zenia or something.”

“Who’s Zenia? Is she like you, milord?”

Jiugui shrugged and drank some more water. “Uh, yeah, I guess.” He got up with some effort and had a sniff of the air. He scrunched his nose and looked down at the trio. “Oh, what’s that smell?”

Vislof shrunk together and tapped his finger together. “Sorry, I let out some castoreum.” Zwiéka clapped him supportively on the shoulder.

“Sorry, milord. We’re still getting used to life.”

Jiugui pursed his lips. “Right. Well, I’m off.”

“S-s-so soon?!” Zwiéka protested. Jiugui rubbed his nose clean.

“Uuuh, yeah, I mean… Most of you’s already gone off to settle down. I, uh, I think you’re already doing quite well for yourselves.”

The trio exchanged some looks. “I mean, that’s fair, but…”

“See? You’ll be fine! Now toodles!” With that, the drunk god skipped off into a sprint, travelling to the edge of a horizon in the blink of an eye. The three beavers were left to exchange looks again and Mosha said to Zwiéka:

“Do you think he would have liked to know about the clan dispute?”

Zwiéka sighed. “Well… I guess he won’t now. Come on, let’s head back.” With that, the Thousand Lakes region was made, and its first settlers, the bjorks, began their history as its pioneering sapients. 

Not even a day had fully passed, and already the first trees were beginning to fall. The bjorks would leave their mark on the landscape in a most literal sense with time.

[hider=Summary!]
Shit, where to start…

Jiugui was aiming for the equator, but missed - like, imagine if Apollo 13 reached Jupiter; that’s how far he missed. He strikes down in the NORF and quickly gets drunk with everything that moves there. He then wakes up and is met by three bjorks (beaverfolk) who call him ‘the Singing Maker’. When Jiugui asks what happened last night, none of them know, as they were also made last night. 

Flashback to last night, Jiugui’s drunk as shit and every animal that hasn’t left the party is busy killing each other in a stupor. Jiugui hears nature’s call and decides to go answer it, all the while stumbling and spilling wine all over, which creates marshes and lakes in the region and fills them with life. He finds a sloth on the way and gets it so drunk that it no longer feels the effects of alcohol, only the taste for it. 

Jiugui then finally finds a good place to unleash the flood, and unleash he does, creating the rivers that connect all the lakes and marshes. He then feels the other call and does some squats behind a bush, creating the very brown, very glistening beaverfolk, the bjorks. 

Of course, Jiugui remembers none of this and neither do the bjorks, so Jiugui fucks on out of there and leaves his creations to their own leisures which, let’s be honest, is probably for the best.
[/hider]

[hider=Vigour!]
Jiugui - 9 vigour
4 vigour - Create the Thousand Lakes biome: A taiga biome full of lands, marshes and rivers, and all the sorts of small animals you’d find in Scandinavia, Russia and Canada that frequents this sort of biome. Stuff like otters, rodents, birds, fish, amphibians, insects and so on. Giants from the larger Northern biome also roam here.

1 vigour discounted to 0 - Make the drunken sloths: Modified giant ground sloths that eat exclusively rotting and fermenting fruits, leaves, roots and vegetables. Specially adapted to sweat out the alcohol in this food through its fur, which gives it a characteristic heavy alcohol odour, which again may potentially intoxicate anything that gets too close or tries to bite into it. 

4 vigour - Create the sapient species: [b]bjorks[/b]: The bjorks are a species of sapient, humanoid beavers. They reach heights of up to 140 centimeters and typically weigh around 30-50 kilogrammes. They resemble beavers in every other way, and live on a diet of roots, freshwater plants, bark, herbs and tree sap, which some cultures brew into wine or beer flavoured with herbs or honey. Most notable are their incisors, which like those of real beavers grow constantly and need to be filed down by gnawing on things. The bjorks are therefore tied to biomes or ways of life where they can satisfy their itch to gnaw on things. By nature, they are bound to the water and the woods and fashion dams, tools and huts out of wood. They tire and get sick quickly in dry conditions, and will die soon if access to water is limited. They therefore rarely leave anywhere without easy access to freshwater both to drink and to bathe in. They live in tribes composed of clans typically led by a matriarch. Clans share a similar scent distributed from their scent glands, the castoreum, which is used to mark territory. Bjorks are highly territorial against other clans, who are easily identified by scent. This makes diplomacy paramount for many, and war paramount for others. 
[img]https://preview.redd.it/zpb4o4x12j231.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a1007200e9c25b0f8c810724c9c51c51fc951368[/img]
End: 1 vigourz. Not vigourous no more.
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