[center][b]Good Deeds Rewarded[/b][/center]

[center][b]I[/b][/center]

[right]”I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James; 
I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games.”
[color=gray]- Francis Brett Harte, [i]Plain Language from Truthful James[/i][/color][/right]


Somewhere in the desolate wastes south of the World River, half-buried in the sands that had been trampled and stained a thousand times over by the hordes of lesser outer beasts, stood a single large Monolith. It was a large cylinder made of a smooth and grey material, covered in an uncountable number of glyphs and bas-reliefs depicting events that had never happened. 

Rising out of the bloodied and blackened sands was a long staircase that led towards what one would assume to be the Monolith’s vertical centre, where a circular divot had been left on the grand monolith as if a gigantic hoof had stepped on it.

At the foot of the stairs was a rotting wooden spear. It was stuck into the sand as if it had been thrown there months ago, and hanging from its split handle was a small, pale leather bag. It jingled in the sandy winds of the wastes.

In the distance, a traveller; by appearance, nothing more than a desert nomad, a lanky beastfolk swaddled in thick cloth to keep the heat and the sand away. The merciless sun beat down on them, though their steps were steady and unperturbed. In their eyes, a cold and certain fire, their hunch nothing more than a play for any who might look upon them. Though one hand gripped their robes, as though a response to the winds, there was no tremble in them.

The traveller stopped at the obelisk, and scanned it, their eyes gleaming. Disinterest passed over them next, and they looked down at the base of the stairs, and the spear therein. Their mouth opened, and they breathed deep of the dry air, and then the act was dropped. The hunch left them, their footing became suddenly sure, and their hands went to their side. The bag was claimed from the spear, and though the back was not opened, the traveller Perceived what was inside.

The traveller ran their free hand across the reliefs as they muttered to the air, their voice pointed as though they expected an audience, “You must think me a fool,” it paused, one hand tearing a chunk out of the obelisk’s stonework with frightening ease, “it is no matter. You will get a soul, of that I have no doubt; but it will not be mine.”

The traveller looked down at the stonework clutched in their hand. They slung it casually into the obelisk, the rock cracking in a thousand different places from the force. There was a loud crack that rang across the sands, and the obelisk first listed, then collapsed. The shockwave threw sand into the air, and as it came down, the pieces were buried. The traveller had memorised the reliefs; nothing, in its view, had truly been lost.

The traveller reached into the pouch, and emerged with a pinch of glowing powder. They sprinkled it into the wind, and the world rent asunder, into a gaping wound into a dark wood sized just large enough to traverse. The traveller walked through, and the wound silently collapsed. Nothing but the sun, the sand, and the never ending wind remained on that blood-soaked battlefield.

A monster of shadow awaited the traveller there, all dripping fangs and bristling claws; a great colossal silhouette in the dark, two white eyes peering in the glades uncovered by moonlight. Hunger sparked in those eyes, and it launched itself forwards. The traveller did not react, not even to look in its direction, and when it reached the traveller, it shrunk back in sudden pain.

It screamed in agony, deep and guttural, as its flesh sloughed away into dust. The monster staggered away, each moment less and less of it there. It didn’t hit the floor; it flew on the breeze. The traveller began to walk, inspecting the woods and the bubbles that interrupted it. Sometimes the beasts in the wood would intersect with these bubbles. Sometimes those within the bubbles died, both within and without.

The traveller stepped into the air, every step bringing them further above the trees and into the lightless sky above. The wood faded into the far distance; less from a lack of physical proximity than from passing a threshold. Once they were high enough, from the pouch they drew a vial of glowing powder, the same that had been used to enter the realm. 

As they uncapped the cork once more, behind them appeared a vast mass, shifting, growing, and shrinking oddly with every movement; sometimes parts seemingly detached, only to act as though they were still part of the whole. A creature of sixteen dimensions viewed through the lens of only three. Mathematics swirled about its bulk, making the eyes itch. The traveller did not look back, nor did they seem affected by the great monster behind it.

For they were the monster, and for their misdeeds they had been greatly rewarded. This was no regular nightmare, to haunt the malleable minds of mortals; it was a blight upon the world and the gods themselves, a traitor and a snake in the midst. The Eidolon’s true body, granted an ever-more secure home away from the machinations of its peers. The traveller slung the vial in a wide arc, letting dust spread across the air. The main body breathed life into the dust, and brought it closer to coalescing.

The traveller faded away, their duty completed. The dust merged into a single point, and then expanded violently into a blazing, cold light that enveloped the monstrous body. Far below, in a mystical sense, the light dimly reached the trees of the wood. Nightmares screamed as the light banished them, though others remained under the trees in the dimmest sections. The realm silently adjusted to its new master.

[hider=Summary]
In the desert, the outer gods leave gifts for we-know-who. A traveller, who is we-know-who comes across it and takes the gifts. They tell the outer gods, who may or may not be listening, ‘nice try bro you won’t get my soul’, then they smash an obelisk the gifts were left at, after remembering how to construct new ones. They sprinkle some fairy powder pixie dust shit into the air, and it opens a portal to the dream realm.

They’re outside of the dream bubbles, so it manifests as a lightless wood. A nightmare charges them but gets painfully dissolved into nothing for its troubles. They walk up into the air far into the sky, which is less a sky because it’s a dream realm and more a threshold to somewhere new. Here, the Eidolon’s main body pops up and around it the [b]Horologian[/b] is created. It shines light on the wood, somewhat keeping nightmares at bay.
[/hider]

[hider=The Horologian]
The Horologian is a Holy Site bought with 6MP (and enhanced to 18MP via Secrets and Divinity) that takes the appearance of a blazing white sun, though it projects no heat. Getting close, the light is so intense it would probably disintegrate you, though. It is enhanced by the domains Secrets and Divinity. It is also further enhanced by the powder gifted to the Eidolon; the distilled remnants of soul that contain the dream domain. Anybody inside the holy site with godly powers gains access to the dream domain and its associated benefits. This benefit is lost when leaving the holy site.

It currently uses 6mp on disguising what it truly is and what is inside (secrets), and 12mp on warding away other gods. Mortals cannot enter this holy site without being destroyed by the power of the dream domain, and heroes cannot resist destruction for long.
[/hider]

[hider=MP Summary]
[b]The Eidolon[/b]
[indent][b]Start:[/b] 6 MP
[indent][b]Spent:[/b] 6 MP on [i]The Horologian[/i][/indent][b]End:[/b] 0 MP[/indent]
[/hider]