[centre][h1]Caught in a Storm[/h1][/centre]
It had lasted for an eternity. It had lasted for a second. The mushroom had long since passed from the land of the living, and it had only just entered its hunger slumber. In the event of the Big Bang, time skipped millennia in all directions. Simultaneously, the mushroom was dead and alive; it was being stretched and squashed, bent and straightened. The only constant was a constant bombardment of energy; an amount that could be measured in neither joules nor degrees. Energy nearly smelted the surface; the cave channels dug by the bull that were not sheltered under at least several tens of meters of rock were shaken and boiled. Light like a supernova filled many of the caverns through brief cracks and left all sorts of marks behind, some burns, some living. Yes, living matter was beginning to infest the caves. Unrefined, wild matter, but it was alive nonetheless. 

And sustenance had come at last.

The first victim was an unfortunate mold that spawned right next to the catatonic mushroom. One would think that it had not been sleeping, but prowling, for like a predator, a curtain of slime molds shot out of the biscuit-sized mushroom and consumed the hapless mold. Having tasted flesh, the fungus continued searching, finding spores, bacteria, plants, even small critters - none were safe from the ravenous creature. In a short while, the mushroom had covered its entire cavern in slime molds. Mycelium had begun to dig into the earth around the cave, finding the soil now rich in minerals and other fungi trying to establish itself. The temperature had warmed considerably, and the air was moist and dank: perfect for a growing mushroom. As the mycelium thickened and the slime molds expanded, the heart of the fungus at last shook off the last of its sleep. 

It began to recollect. A memory rocked its mycelium, and across the planar barriers, the memory became movement.

[hr]

The explosion of energy that had inundated the Material Realm, had caused the simultaneous initiation of multiple overflows in various points and locations across its counterpart. 

Everywhere and all at once, the parallel dimension on the other side of reality was immediately awash with energy, the sheer potential of which was enough to, for a split second, form cracks in the barrier separating the two realms. Very quickly, however, the Astral recovered, with the very same essence that caused their appearance helping in mending them shut.

The force of the energy rebounded on the ethereal walls of the realm, turning in on itself and heading back towards the deepest recesses where the very first existences were just beginning to awaken.

“I… Think…” came a groggy voice, echoing out into the emptiness of the Astral Realm. “We… Think…”

One of the first to have gained even a semblance of awareness had, unsurprisingly, been that very same creature the overseer of the Astral Realm initially had thought of as an intruder. The fledgling fungal mind resonated with the ever-present astral energy suffusing its immediate surroundings; as blisteringly hot as it was frigid cold, the primordial essence called to it, and the consciousness obliged - the proverbial moth racing towards the flame.

Just as its material body would consume anything in its way in search of sustenance, so would its astral self open itself up to the vast expanse before it, taking everything in. The moment it did, a second, miniature Big Bang rippled through the entirety of its existence. A myriad thoughts and emotions that would never have had the chance to be thought of and felt, overtook the being, no, [i]beings[/i].

Like the crew of a small boat, the mycelium consciousness found itself stranded in the middle of a raging mindstorm, precariously teetering on the verge of capsizing. It retracted wordlessly - screaming was unknown to it. It felt fear at first, its forming essence tossed across the wild seas of the birth of thought, emotion and the mind. It felt confusion, which stuck together with fear, but searched for answers instead of places to hide. Confusion turned to curiosity, as patterns in the mindstorm began to show. A part of the mycelium mind chose to break out of the malleable consciousness and willingly jump into the storm. 

“I fly!” it said. 

“Come back!” said a section of the remaining consciousness. But the separatist had already soared above and beyond the tumultuous waters of cognition. It read the waves and the patterns like a text. It could never hope to overpower them, but it did not need to; with time and understanding, its movements could be learned and even harnessed. The separatist turned to the left and was swallowed by a current of rage and sorrow, but it was not harmed by its destructive nature. Instead, it surfed on the current, sailing it back to meet its fellows of the mycelium consciousness, which in itself was beginning to break apart as more saw the separatist’s mastery of the emotional storm. 

“Teach us!” The cloud disintegrated further. “Teach us to master this realm as you do.” The separatist stood unharmed, but not untouched. The trip through the vast realm of the Astral had changed it, and it was no longer a cloud-like form, but a vaguely humanoid shape, hidden underneath a wide contour of a mushroom cap. It reached into the cloud and played with its malleable form. A thousand voices were still and attentive, gazing back at the capped one. Eventually, when a break in the storm stilled the emotions somewhat, the capped one spoke: “Now! Follow me!” With a powerful pull, the capped one pulled the incorporeal cloud into the storm. The capped one did as before and scouted out the patterns, yet with a need to divert so much focus to the cloud in its hands, its calculations were slower than usual. 

A wrong step to the right led to one arm being pulled wide, flinging cloud spores into the storm, never to be seen again. 

Two steps more than necessary led it to fling spores to the left. It persevered, but the buzz of the cloud betrayed fear and distrust of the capped one’s capabilities.

“You will doom us all if you cannot focus!” a section of the cloud shamed. The capped one felt a new sensation, one that stirred up the storm around them.

“Control yourself!” demanded another voice. The capped one felt its form ripple and rip - it had lost the pattern and was now trapped within the wicked winds.

“We’re dead! We’re all dead!” cried the cloud. 

“N-no! Stay calm! You’ll only make it worse,” cautioned the capped one, but even it was losing hope. It pushed some more steps forward and then felt a sharp sting of pain. The winds had torn at its skin, threatening to undo its entire shape. In a last-ditch effort to survive, the capped one collected what it had left of the cloud and laid down on the astral ground, its cap functioning as a shield against the storm. The shield being part of itself, however, meant that the capped one felt every bite of rage, every cut of sorrow, every sting of fear, and the storms threatened to blow it away with every breath. As the capped one's essence began to fray, swirling torrents of grief and ecstasy intertwined with tendrils of loneliness and camaraderie. Colors with no name, beyond mortal comprehension, pulsated in violent harmony, the hues and shades representing the ever-shifting state the consciousness had found itself in.

Suddenly, the capped one, submerged in this maelstrom of sentiments, reached a point of utmost despair. "Is there no way out? Can anyone hear me?" it cried out, desperate and silent, into its mind. This elicited a renewed, mixed reaction as a chorus of voices from the cloud responded, some mocking, others in sheer disappointment.

"You! Our beacon of hope? Hah!" sneered one voice.

"Why did we ever trust you?" another lamented, dripping with regret.

Yet, outside its mind, this intense inner struggle manifested in a spectacle never before seen. The astral form of the capped one radiated an intense, blinding light, illuminating the dark corners of the astral realm. Its brilliance was so overpowering that it caused ripples throughout the dimension, momentarily pacifying the turbulent storm of astral energy that had been, unbeknownst to it, swirling around itself for quite some time.

The blinding radiance from the capped one didn't just ripple through the astral realm, it pierced through the layers of dimensions, reaching spaces far beyond the reach a mere mortal existence such as itself would ever try approaching. Obviously, this did not happen by virtue of its own power, no. The main culprit for this amazing feat had been none other than the mark the overlord of this realm had left on it in passing. This mark acted as a beacon, allowing the deity to keep an eye on the creature's evolution, even if only from the periphery of his attention.

The sudden burst of energy from the mark was impossible to ignore. It tugged at the deity's essence, almost as if calling out to him. As the waves of energy washed over him, he discerned the turbulence, the raw emotion, and the profound struggle of the fungus, now manifested as the capped one. Intrigued and somewhat concerned, the deity decided to move closer, his form gliding effortlessly through the astral plane, drawn inexorably to the source of this disturbance.

Emerging beside the capped one, the deity studied it, seeing beyond its glowing astral form and into its very essence. The change, the evolution, and the sheer potential of this being was evident. It was a peculiar amalgamation of mycelium thought, primal emotion, and something more, something nascent that even the deity had not foreseen. A smirk of satisfaction briefly played on the deity's faceless form. [b][i]"Ah, I was correct with my foresight,"[/i][/b] he mused to himself. [b][i]"This creature has grown... interesting."[/i][/b]

Gently, almost tenderly, the deity extended a tendril of pure energy towards the capped one. It wasn't a physical touch, but rather a connection at a deeper, more intimate level. The deity intended to probe once again, yet this time sought to understand, to see what had led to this spectacular explosion of energy and emotion. As the tendril made contact, a jolt of understanding passed between the two beings. Raw memories, thoughts, feelings, and experiences from the capped one flooded into the deity's consciousness. Simultaneously, the deity’s sheer magnificence and awe inspiring, radiant aura pierced through the mycelium’s mindscape, acting like a counterforce to the fierce, metaphysical winds that plagued the inner world of the fungus.

In that brief, infinite moment, a connection was established, and the capped one realized the storm had stilled. The awesome sensation of the deity’s power left the creature weak in the knees and arms, and so it dropped the cloud, which sank gently towards the astral floor. The capped one did not know what to say or do in response, so it stood there dumbstruck, another whole new sensation. At its feet, the cloud disintegrated completely, and the ethereal ground sprouted with small, slimy red knobs and nibs that oozed a faint glow. As the slime expanded slowly outwards in search of sustenance, more central regions sprouted small, crimson, veiny baubles that seemed to pump and flex, nearly bursting with energy. Tendrils of astral mycelium spread out along the slime trail from these central regions, and the mushrooms kept growing. All along, the capped one gradually recovered its awareness and addressed the astral overlord: “Teacher! Mentor! Sage! How? How did you still the storm so easily? Who are you, great being?” 

To a god, listening in on a mortal existence’s thoughts was as easy as water squeezing through a gap between two rocks. They had to, or else how would they be able to know their subject’s wants and needs, should they really care that much about their creations in the first place. This specific deity, however, hadn’t really bothered with such things, even before being brought into this Universe. There was one exception… but that being had long perished by now, probably. 

The morbid thought soured the deity’s mood some, and for a split second the divine aura flickered, giving plenty a chance for the storm to return. Fierce psychic winds, razor sharp and biting, blew over the capped one. Nevertheless, it didn’t take much time for the aura to stabilize the place once more - serene quietness now only remained. Then, a voice, more akin to a whisper, replied.

[b][i]“A being, sure. Great? Unsure. It takes a lot for someone to be labeled as great; I used to know someone that was great, yet I do not consider myself to be their equal…"[/i][/b] The tone in the voice of the deity betrayed feelings of remorse and longing, and after a few moments of silence, it continued.

[b][i]“You seek power over yourself, you seek to solve that which troubles you. I can certainly provide help, but you must first answer me this: who are you?”[/i][/b]

The capped one hesitated, a fibrous hand lifting to touch its face with a gentle pat. “Who am I?” A stillness followed, and a weak waft of cool wind betrayed an aura of uneasiness within the creature. Around it, the glowing mushrooms and slime mould eyed it curiously. A cloud of crimson spores oozed slowly out of one mushroom and floated gently towards the capped one. “Who are you?” it repeated. 

“Saviour? Saviour!” a mycelium vein burbled with excited pulsations.

“A fool with heart and no head, nothing more.” A fattening mushroom trunk twisted austerely. 

Slime mould lapped at the capped one’s four foot-like appendages. “A guide, perhaps? A pilot, even?”

“A pilot?” replied the capped one.

“Pilot, pilot!” the mycelium cheered.

“Puh! It is hardly worthy of such a title, the coward. Had it not been for the Teacher, the capped one’s foolish attempt to–”

“Pilot! Pilot! Pilot!” the mycelium and slime mould coalesced into a pedestal beneath the capped one’s feet. Ghosts of spores morphed into currents on the wind, washing over the Pilot with red, glowing dust, painting beautiful patterns across its fibrous form. Looking down, the Pilot could see more mushrooms sprouting out of the astral ground, some growing pseudopods and even proper feet to move around. The spores spread across the nearby fields of emotions, drawing the colony to spread further into the astral realm. The capped one, now no longer alone in that title, looked up at the mighty visage of the god. “I am the Pilot.”

[b][i]"Pilot, hmm... Pilot, pilot, pilot…"[/i][/b] The deity mused, mulling over the word for some time. He looked down from above at the small existence that led the charge, before surveying the ever-expanding mycelium consciousness around it.

[b][i]"An adequate title, if not admirable. Do you consider yourself the representative of the collective, or are you just one of the many pilots amongst your peers? You certainly have the support of many, but do you have the support of all?"[/i][/b]

The Pilot looked around. “I-it is clear that not all believe that I am worthy of the title.” It exchanged glances with the non-existent, yet very perceivable stern expression of some of the larger mushrooms. “But I… I believe I speak for many here, at least.”

“We shall see for how long,” conceded a mushroom sharply. “Do not make a mistake again.”

“Then–”

“We object!” came a protest from a field of little red fungus knobs. One of them grew swiftly in size and pushed itself out of the ground. “We lost too many due to this one’s recklessness. We will choose a Pilot of our own - one who thinks and strategizes. We will not follow the guidance of this spontaneous dancer. We will grow our own path.”

“Oh… I see–”

“Then we withdraw, too!” proclaimed the large mushroom who had just promised their support. The capped one deflated. The mycelium and slime moulds connecting the colonies began to wilt and curl, eventually pulling away to see new lands to expand into. The Pilot sighed. 

“Then I hope we should not come to blows in the future, friends.” To the sound of no response, the Pilot turned back to the deity, its mycelium throne wilting and separating as the support of the outer nodes faded away. “It seems my estimate was exaggerated.”

The deity nodded his assent; [b][i]"Everything happens for a reason. Fate has ordained that you walk a different path than others, and it is up to you to prove that your path is the correct one…"[/i][/b]

With that comment, the deity closed in on the, now, lonesome fungus. His solid, golden eyes forming iridescent, nebulaic colored swirls. [b][i]"On that note, I believe a little competition never hurt anyone,"[/i][/b] he added and rose up from his crouched position. Suddenly, his eyes flashed, his aura gaining a domineering aspect that allowed no dissent; the Astral Realm quaked, bending to the deity's will in a bid to funnel astral energy into the entirety of the mortal existence before him - Pilot and non-pilots included.

[b][i]"You shall lead and be led, for learning how to do the former assumes you have learned how to do the latter."[/i][/b]

And with that, the deity returned to its previous, neutral disposition, before addressing the Pilot - and by extension every other bright and potential leader of the fungal colonies. [b][i]"I will allow you all to make this realm your home, but make sure to treat it as such. I assume I don't have to explicitly say what will happen, should any danger come to it due to your actions, right?"[/i][/b]

“Of course, Teacher,” replied the Pilot. It fidgeted briefly. “May we call you that? Teacher?”

The deity raised a proverbial eyebrow at the immediate response from the sentient tuber. [b][i]"You… may, albeit teaching opportunities will be few and far between… Farewell, and good luck,"[/i][/b] the deity said as his visage vanished, merging into the astral backdrop.

The Pilot and its colony then set off on the path of discovery of what sentient life was all about. All the while, they sang praises to their Teacher who had show them how to still the storms of the Astral Realm. They did not know it then, but their affinity for songs of prayer would later earn them their name:

The Cantars.

[hider=Summary]
The Big Bang wakes up the fungus biscuit in the caves under Galbar’s surface. It goes super saiyan and transcends into the Astral realm. It then begins to separate, first into two consciousnesses, then into several. Then the Astral realm erupts into an emotional storm as life all over Galbar begins to feel. A leader among the mushrooms tries to guide the spores safely through, but fails and almost dies. Big Ull comes to save the day and is impressed that the mushrooms still exist. He asks what they are and the leader contemplates on their behalf. Ull then asks if the leader has legitimacy, at which point it turns out that they only sorta have, and lots of spores and mushrooms break out of the colony to found their own. Post ends with Ull proclaiming that every elected leader of a mushroom colony may lead so long as they maintain the support of their fellows. This leader is known as the Pilot.
[/hider]

[hider=EmPEE]
1MP (Ull'yang's expenditure) - Empower the mycelium colonies with the ability to elect a single heroic individual each from all the different voices within each colony.
2MP (Hummus’ expenditure) - Create the Cantars: A race of sapient myconids with a powerful and inherent connection to the Astral Realm. A colony may be composed of hundreds to thousands of square metres of mycelium strands that dig through the earth and pump nutrients back to one of several mental nodes. Depending on political and cultural affairs in the Astral Realm, certain nodes will hold power over the colony and choose how it develops in the Material Plane. While cantareps in the Astral Realm are sophisticated and elegant, they can be feeble-minded and drone-like in the Material Plane. Only the Pilot, the Material representative of the colony, maintains a level of sophistication on par with their Astral counterpart. Eating a cantarep weakens the barrier between the Astral and Material for the consumer. Cantars can also be called cappas, shroomers, fuzzers or [insert colour] fluff. Non-pilots in the Material Plane are referred to grunts or clumps.

[centre][h2]A Pilot surrounded by cantar grunts in the Material Realm[/h2]
[img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1165634785784369272/1166830473696256040/aremis-rivera-beastober-aromatic.jpg?ex=654bea8f&is=6539758f&hm=37c9de003550dbc81929217f6321e63af6b768003267bcb32a294804e09f0faa&=&width=517&height=558[/img]
[h2]A cantar in the Astral Realm[/h2]
[img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1165634785784369272/1166830305072648313/DALLE_2023-10-25_02.11.52_-_Illustration_of_a_unique_truffle_fungus_glowing_with_nebulaic_colors_situated_in_the_vast_expanse_of_outer_space._Magical_energies_resembling_wisps_.png?ex=654bea67&is=65397567&hm=35285ded9d05bfc9cecbdb7981a47a768b06ce99e047349080f688c1bf8f05bb&=&width=558&height=558[/img]
[/centre]
[/hider]