Antarctic Termite

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

Chopstick stood her ground as the Iron God loomed over her, secure this time in the calmness of Ashalla's waters, albeit only physically. She managed not to back up too much as the great feet came to a halt before her, and not lean back too much as the great eye narrowed above her.

"Hrrah, hah, ah... Are you looking for..."

She wiggled the cleaver.

The absurdity of what she had done hit her along with the tension and she winced back hard at the sound of an unsatisfied grunt.

It was a long few seconds that followed. Every subtle move of the Iron God's hands sent blood rushing into her headbones, striking her anew with the heart-stopping fear of instant annihilation. From below, she was unable to determine whether he was wringing his wrists in murderous frustration or charging up a blast of less insidious but substantially more lethal divine energies. By the time he lowered his finger silently towards her, she had shed eight wooden spikes from her eyes and retreated three steps, and was nearly in tears.

She kept her fists up, though.

The cleaver-scimitar hit the stone with a splash and she jumped back with an 'eep!', hair jolting in every direction as if electrified. But the tension was broken, and Narzhak explained himself, and Chopstick found that she really was crying, fishing up the giant noodle shortener with a messy sniff as gelatinous tears of marvel rolled down her cheeks.

"Thank you! I will!" she yelled, standing up after crumpling under the shadow of the leaping titan. Ashalla, Shengshi, Seihdhara, Azura, now Narzhak... for all its chaos, Chopstick realised, there was nothing in the world that was quite like family.

"...but thank fuck," she murmured, if only to herself and Ashalla. "I don't think I could've gone through with that."

An iridescent streak flashed off overhead.

"See you all on Galbar..."

"AZURA!"

Unwilling to let the macaw god go without thanks, Chopstick shed her weakness like dust and bounded on all fours after the bird, kicking water in a high spray with every landing until she hurled herself, like cannon shot, onto the dead center of a crystal platform.

Her stone followed Azura's with tremendous speed, and as Chopstick crouched and held on with her left hand, she found she could control its journey with the touch of her lower right palm (her upper- and middle-right arms were preoccupied with handling the cleavers). Still, Azura had a considerable lead. By the time Chopstick had accelerated enough to catch up, Azura had come to a halt in her Sphere, and the god-gremlin shot onwards, far far below, unable to stop.

Crap! Empty spheres flashed past her as Galbar grew ever nearer and Chopstick struggled to find some way to slow. Scratching around herself in brief panic, she grabbed her dress by the shoulders and plucked at it.

From its silk unfolded behind her a huge and glorious kite, sewn of many colours.

The speed of the crystal provided lift, and its plummet halted, and Chopstick Eyes found herself flying over the nascent sea with the wind in her hair and the strings of destiny in her hands. After a moment she stood, her dress still soaked and tattered, and stared, undaunted, into the wind.

Somewhere out in the void, she knew the Architect would still be looking back. She remembered her unasked question. It didn't matter now.

I know what to do.

As the air around her turned from black to morning blue, and she finally felt like something fully born.

---

It wasn't long before Chopstick Eyes located a mountain, jutting out from the shimmering waters in the distance. She tensed her cleaver-bearing arms. It was time to take Narzhak's gift out for a spin.

Bending her knees just enough to stabilise her body, Chopstick Eyes reached out with the pumpkin carvers, and turned the kite towards the stone. Closer, closer...

...In a blur of godly mettle, she struck off the mountain's head.

An instant passed before the second cleaver came down on the falling peak, slicing that, too, in twain. White columns of water shot towards the skies behind her as the pieces landed in the shallow sea. Chopstick turned the kite to survey the damage, and saw the base of the mountain, still standing as an island with a high plateau, as flat as a chopping-board.

"Hah!"

She stuck out her tongue with the sheer cheek of it. Her eyelids twitched, but were unable to wink over the skewers in her head. Still, she needed a pose to celebrate the occasion, and others like it; she settled for raising two fingers in a v-shape next to her head, a salute for anyone who might be watching.

Her elation lasted until she realised that she had begun to slow. Guiding the disc as she could, Chopstick Eyes landed herself on a nearby sandbar as the crystal petered out and dropped her on the surface of Galbar, the kite folding slowly up behind her.

"...Oops."

She knew her Sphere lay below her somewhere. With a fairly satisfied shrug, Chopstick put her knees to the dirt, scooped out a clump of sand and started digging.

The adventure continues...

Chopstick is absolutely petrified of Narzhak and tries, badly, to hide it. She is overcome with gratitude upon receiving the cleaver.

Then Azura flies off, and Chopstick tries to fly after her on a disc. It doesn't go as planned, and she winds up in Galbar.

Unwilling to stop just yet, she creates a glorious kite as a 1 Might artefact. She uses it to make an improvised paraglider of the crystal disc, and spends a glorious moment in the light. 4 more Might needed to unlock the Kites portfolio.

Then she tests her cleavers on an innocent mountain, cutting its peak clean off and creating Mount Chop, a perfectly flat and level island plateau. The former peak is on the seafloor nearby, sliced into two wedges. This cost 2 Free Points. 4 more Might needed to unlock the Knives portfolio.

She thus creates Galbar's second landmark after the Maw, and its first anime pose.

Then her disc runs out of steam and leaves her stranded.

Yes I do want to claim the (Kites) portfolio.

4 Might (Native)
18 Might (Age of Creation)

Markets
Kites (1/5)
Knives (1/5)

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

Chopstick Eyes did her very best to wade through the deeper parts of the throne room lake, swishing her arms through the water in search and trying her very best to blot out the sounds of burning, yelling and slithering as she did so. It was a bold attempt, for her part, and perhaps the only movement she'd managed so far that had not involved scuttling in fright. She dipped her head below the water to listen for the creaking of the wood inside her skull, hoping to echolocate something smooth, broad and metal.

When she came up, she... Did not come up. Kicking up and backwards with a jerk of panic, Chopstick found that either she had drifted away much deeper than she had intended, or the water was rapidly rising. Breaching the surface with a shake of the head and treading water, she realised that the water had indeed risen, but caught in the lowermost reaches of yet another goddess of the titanic variety, that seemed to be the least of her troubles.

"Th-th... Thank you!" she spluttered, paddling within reach of the trusty meat-partitioner, a little humiliated but having no obvious means of recourse while splashing around like a dog in the watery base of an elemental lord. But she meant it. "Thank you, Ashalla."

Chopstick bowed as soon as her legs could reach the bottom. As her skewers touched the surface of the water, she saw the ripples below her face grow suddenly much darker all over, caught as it was- as she damn well knew it was, divine sense or no- in the shadow of yet another colossus. A second later, she could smell him.

Still facing the water, Chopstick clenched her teeth in the fakest smile and went hgrrrnnnrrnnnnnrnnnn, and only then permitted herself to sigh.

Standing up to face Narzhak armed with nothing but an oversized vegetable sectioner, Chopstick rested her cleaver on her shoulder, uncrossed her other two arms, stared him dead in the visor and raised her tiny knuckles as if to promise swift and unrepentant fisticuffs.

fite me

Choppy looks for her cleaver in the water and soon realises that the water is Ashalla, whom she awkwardly thanks for her cleaver.

Then, having in the span of about five minutes gone from helpless newborn to helpless jaded motherfucker, she stares down Narzhak and waits for the inevitable next act in the shitshow that is her life.

5 Might (Native)
20 Might (Age of Creation)

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

On second thoughts I'm going to have to leave Chopstick's response to Narzhak and Ashalla for tomorrow, since it's now too late to continue. See y'all in ten hours.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

Fire and wind and desolation erupted into the Architect's chamber, things the little god saw in blurs from beneath the waves. It kicked into the water, trying to stand among the titans- and was noticed. A new colossus caught the flailing figure in a coil of its tentacles, lifting it effortlessly up from the torrent and to a great height. A gaze without eyes met with an eye that should not, and perhaps never should have, been.

"Fortunate..."

But not for you, o demon.

Caught in the vastness of ANZILLU's visage (for she knew his name, had always known his name), drowning in the awesome and terrible song of his voice, dwarved a thousandfold by the magnitude of his presence, that spark of divinity that slept in the little god awoke into a fire. Without thought, nor feeling, nor pain, joy, or fear, the skewered godlet reached back into its hair, and drew a great cleaver.

In a single sweep of metal elegance, the godlet freed itself. A moment later, the great crash of the Demon's severed fingertip falling into the water reverberated through the chamber.

For its own part, the little god did not land, but fell, still holding its dress in its teeth, until caught on the back of the great macaw. The shimmering light of the wind-god's plumage dazzled the gremlin, but it did not leap, or fight. There was warmth here. Besides, it had lost its cleaver.

"I have you small friend. Are you alright?"

The little god pulled the dress from its mouth with one hand, and, for the first time in a long, long minute, exhaled. It could finally remember what peace felt like. It felt good.

"I..." Another long breath. No more running. "I... I like... I like your feath-"

Nope.

Launched bodily from Azura's back by a sudden red blur, the little god was hurled into freefall, and this time landed hard. Its bones wiggled and creaked in the water as it tried, for the manyth time, to stand up. And to its credit, it was getting rather good at that, but fate had other designs, and the red blur returned.

'I've got you Meatchops.'

And she did. Divinity aside, there was a world of difference between the two naked women, including about five stone of pure muscle. The little god pushed weakly against Seihdhara's grip, and eventually went limp. But before long, Seihdhara started screaming, and s̸̵oḿ̸et̨h̢̧͡i̷͜͝n͏g̷͏ ̀b̢̡͘r͜͠o͝kę̸́ņ approached them and started clicking...

Exhausted and weary of sensory overload, the little gremlin still managed to hear enough of the warrior-goddess's speech to finally pick up a new and valuable word: "FUCK-!"

Flailing with both of its free arms while holding the dress in a third, the little god scrabbled, scratched and bit Seihdhara, drawing blood with its needle-like teeth and leaving welts around her throat with its hair until a moment later it managed to push itself out of her grip. It rolled over the water and stood, staring down the hostile universe, and wiped its mouth.

"Fuck."

For a moment it stared down the other two. Then the little god wrung out her tattered dress and yanked it over her head. "Fuck this," it said with its face under the fabric. "Fuck you. And you. And you especially." Its head popped out and gave no further clarification. It started to do up its surviving buttons. "I mean... Sorry. This... wasn't what I expected."

Was anyone listening? It couldn't tell. But in the end, it found that it didn't really care either. In fact, it didn't even give a fuck.

discovering profanity

Chopstick gets picked up by Anzillu and promptly gets him to drop her by cutting off the offending tentacle with her cleaver.

She then gets caught by Azura, which is nice, until Seihdhara kicks her off and picks her up. She gets scratched and cussed at.

Eurysthenes shows their face and gets cussed at too.

Then Chopstick finally gets dressed. Finally.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

The little god with the bleeding sockets cast its gaze away, the skewers in its eyes darting down to point to one side, and it chewed its lip. Clutching the wet dress in its arms as if to hide its tension (an unsuccessful endeavor by any means), it slowly looked up again, trying to catch the exact line where the Architect's throne met the back of his head.

It tried, once more, to speak to the one that had spoken for it.

"I-I..."

Too late.

A blaze threw apart the dim of the throne room. With no real knowledge of how to balance itself, the little god yelped and reeled from the light, falling sidelong into the water. Wet again from head to toe, it emerged from the rushing streams on all fours, carrying its dress in its teeth. Teetering one way and another, it scuttled through the water, crawling away to the safety of a pillar, where-

c r a c k

Whether a sound or a dream or a thing altogether different, the pulse that ricocheted from the unseen black bead struck the godlet and it hit the ground, crouching with its hands over its ears, eyes wide and full of splinters. This, it seemed, was the safest way to stay the sensory assault. Yet even without eyes, the creature could feel things moving in the throne room.

Its peace was not to last.

A third sense burned as the tides of water grew stronger around the god-gremlin's body. Something foul was thrashing in the water, rising upon the air. With greater poise than it had ever shown yet, the little god scuttled away from the scent of slaughter, splashing and loping across the floor with all seven of its limbs.

But the foulness was congealing, and the flesh it grew was laughing, laughing to quake the worlds and lash the seas...

Caught in the gargantuan shadow of the Iron One, the little god lost its grip and tumbled, tumbled away on a wave of dark water.

Edit: time to start summarising

Still very shaky on her feet and with little idea of where or who she is, Chopstick tries to answer the Architect's command, but doesn't manage to get the words out.

Frightened by Asceal's brightness, she falls into the water and scurries off, then hides behind a pillar from the sound of Melantha's bead-form taking root.

Finally, the stench of Narzhak's sludge frightens her again, and she runs, only to be swept away by the waves thrown up by the sound of his laughter. Now there's no telling where she'll wash up.

Ed: this post was made before Sartravius's birth edit came in.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

The Chopstick Eyes Bi-Annual Delivery Catalogue

---

For further information on Chopstick Eyes, press 1

If you would like to purchase your very own chopstick-related facial trauma, press 2

The Chopstick Eyes Bi-Annual Delivery Catalogue

BUY LOW SELL HIGH

'That's my name!!'

The Grand Bazaar

The Bazaar is a Sphere with no sun and no sky, but it does have lights- thousands and thousands of lights. A million million lanterns illuminate a million million streets, bordered not by walls or houses, but by stalls, tents and shacks, makeshift or otherwise, stacked on top of each other into a haphazard infinity. Endless canyons of shops and stores stretch in every direction, where billions of invisible hands peddle every good and service ever seen on the face of Galbar, and even elsewhere.

Sometimes wearing gloves, sometimes rings and bangles, sometimes nothing at all, the invisible hands barter, bicker and chatter into eternity, speaking without true language, their voices never distinct and never alone. From a distance, upbeat music plays- always from a distance.

It is said that if you can follow the beat to its source, you will find the Market God.

Sphere Orientation

The Grand Bazaar is a shallow Cthonic sphere and its borders are thin. Things leak into Bazaar, or are duplicated there: a rock, a flower, a missing sock, a fallen sword, a secret you forgot when you were twelve. When things are forgotten in Galbar, lost in some corner where they will never be found, they frequently pop up in Bazaar.

All these things can be bought, and nearly everything can be sold. Your money, your metal, your cow, your wife, your name, your soul, your firstborn son, all of it has a price, communicated through unintelligible jabber and finger-pointing. The invisible hands are shrewd vendors, and difficult to trick, but they will take rarities where they can get them.

Some natural connections exist between the Bazaar and other Cthonic spheres. In its lower depths, fighting mantids are sold, ants crawl over the Bazaar's messy floors and moths flutter around its lamps, creeping in from the Hive through cracks in the floor. Certain sectors hear the jabber and babble turn to mutter, where crude rations are traded for weapons from the Pit of Trials- a grim market with little adornment. It is said that if one follows the babble closely enough, one can hear a single intelligible voice, an unseen swindler beckoning you to Sanvadam.

Ultimately, most of the Bazaar is a reflection of Galbar, and prices and goods will reflect this. Things that are rare on Galbar will be rare in Bazaar, and things that require godly might to acquire on Galbar will require godly haggling skill to get from the Bazaar, not to mention the time spent, how you say, picking up what fell from the back of the Architect's truck, if you know what I mean. But there's a certain someone who can help you out there...

The Market Lord

The Market Lord is a god that can get you things. Boil away the niceties, toss aside the pretences, and it really is that simple: Chopstick Eyes can Get You Things.

Every material resource imaginable can be found in the Bazaar, be it livestock, minerals, food, wood, fuel or fabric. Any good you can put on a scale and weigh resides here, and will be gladly packaged for the right price. And though the currency of Bazaar may be inconsistent, the prices are always two steps ahead of the market on Galbar. If you intend to pay less, you can very well expect to get less. In fact, even if you pay more, you can still probably expect to get less.

Enter the Market Lord.

The Market Lord is the only being in all of reality to fully understand the ever-changing structure of the Grand Bazaar, the only creature who can always find her way in its maze. The Market Lord knows every bit of blackmail, has jotted down the password for every smuggler's den, is on first-name terms with the matron of every brothel, and she ALWAYS gets a discount. The Market Lord has tabs on everyone, and everyone is eager to pay their debts. The Market Lord speaks the unspeakable language of the invisible hands.

'...and even I can't always get a good deal around here, wouldnya believe it?'

Even beyond her Sphere, the Market Lord is king over her domain. Numbers that pass through her presence do not stack up, and cause does not always meet effect. Wherever there is wealth to be accumulated through trade, it accumulates in the Market Lord's accounts, and wherever mortals are profiting en masse, the Market Lord profits also. Every piece of gossip that passes through a selling-place has passed through her, and she knows the source and passage of every good.

Any place that a shop can be set up, the Market Lord has one there. She has always had one there. Perhaps you don't remember, but soon you will. And when she departs, you will forget again. Just like everyone else.

Who is the Market Lord?

At the counter of half a hundred stores in the Grand Bazaar is an entity named Chopstick Eyes.

Chopstick Eyes has been instructed to adopt the form of a woman, and she took to this duty with enthusiasm, even though 'she' had and continues to have only the most distant conception of what a human being is meant to look like. Her head is too big and her legs are too long. Her arms bend where they shouldn't, and often she forgets the proper number. Her mouth opens too wide and has too many teeth, all of which are much too sharp. Her hair is prehensile. It hides many knives.

Above all, Chopstick Eyes has chopstick eyes. Sticking out from her eye sockets where true eyes would be are dozens of thin wooden skewers, densely packed and filled with splinters. These are slightly mobile, shuffling around like the antennae of a shrimp, with the sound of splintery wood and flesh rubbing together, occasionally shedding or being plucked for use by their master. Occasionally, when Chopstick Eyes needs to store something small, she will skewer it on her chopstick eyes to be attended to later, or simply let the skewers pinch it in place in front of her face. The skewers can also be weaponised.

None of this is particularly human, of course, but Chopstick Eyes never really changes them, even when she makes contact with an actual human. There is something missing from her, perhaps not broken but certainly incomplete, some blind spot that prevents her ever noticing or correcting the abnormality of her body. Perhaps that's for the better.

Chopstick Eyes typically wears a cheongsam dress with a neat cut- colourful, and every day different, but nothing too flashy. It gives her the appearance of a regular front-of-shop employee. Her uniform does tend to change a little depending on what store she's minding.

Her favourite weapon is an oversized meat cleaver.

But who is she really?

Chopstick Eyes prefers to live in the moment. Neutral Good by nature, she's a generous and easygoing creature with a habit of seeing the good things in life and getting, really, really excited over them.

It is the firm belief of Chopstick Eyes that now is the only real thing to exist- the future is chaos, the past is missing, and even memories can only ever be re-lived in the moment. It is this thought that has led her to become something of a tasteful hedonist, an aspirant after every art. Song, dance, painting, sculpture, and games, and stories, and cuisine, and sex, and meditation, and ESPECIALLY acupuncture- all these things have value to Chopstick Eyes, and she will pay well for any of them.

Oftentimes, she'll even offer them to you, free of charge, so you can enjoy them too.

Fair trade matters to Chopstick Eyes, as it does to any good economist. She defends the Bazaar and its occupants from fraud and thievery, both in person and by arranging the endless maze, as is in her power to do. She considers it good and just to be good and just. However, she isn't always going to take responsibility for your idiocy. If Chopstick Eyes makes an offer for your flesh, don't accept it too lightly. She's handy with that cleaver.

Chopstick Eyes respects boundaries and generally respects the will of other gods. Not everything can be packaged in a store (though most things can), and Chopstick appreciates being able to see new worlds and new influences. What really matters is that we all enjoy this moment together, without getting too hung up on the future or the past.

After all, all things come to an end.

Àl͝l th̛in͞gs ̛sho̴u҉l҉d ̴com̴e t̛o an̵ en͏d.͘

Al҉l̀ t̛h͏̸̨i͞͞n҉҉g̕͡s̕ ̷̧̢m̧͟u̕s̨̛t̡̨ ̢c̸̢om̴e̢͢͏ ̕t̷͟o ̴̧an̷͡ ̵͝҉e̕ǹ̵̀d̡.͠

A̷̴͢l̷͏l̛͜ ̀͢͝͝t̸̵̨̕̕h̸̀̀́i̧͜͞͏n̴̛͜ģ̸̧͢s͟͡ ̵̨͘W̡̛͡҉̷Ì̵Ļ͡L̨͏̡͞ ̶̨͞҉̢c͢͠҉̷o̵̸m̛̛̕e͘͢ ͠͝͠t̴̀͏ó̀ ͏͢͠ą̵̸͜n҉͞ ̴͡͝͞e̶̡͢n̢͜d̕͘͜͞.̴̶

S̶̡̛̲͍̜̜͍̳͎̬̥̣̺̗̜͙̻̟͠O̸̶̴͚̦̦̯̘̳͇͙̮͍̥͈̬͞O҉̢̥̣̯̖̳̤̞̯̹̭̼̘̱̭̲͘͜N̢͚̠̻̯̼͚͚̟͈̫̼̭̲̫͕̹͔̣͜͜͝.̵̬͉̠͇̦͎̰̯͔͕̦͓̬̙͙̱̙̕͡ͅ

.

...But until then, let's just enjoy the sunlight.

Music

DUMMY!!

@Strange Rodent brought it to my attention that there was a better fit for the Market Lord, actually.

Codeword

Entropicalicious entropicadoodle! OwO

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

Hi, welcome to S̵͠Ķ͞R̴̴A̕GH̶̡̡NÀP̨͟H͡͝G̨͞H̛'s Sleeping God Emporium, we make 'em, you wake 'em. How can I help you?

Oh, you're on a budget today? Anything particular on your mind?

Well, maybe I can interest you in some thunder slingers? Or this new solar disc we've acquired, very fine...

Alright, we'll keep looking. I'm sure we'll find something to match your taste and budget.

The forest walker? She's... No, alright. How about-

Oh, that old thing?

Yeah. Pretty beaten up, if I'm honest with ya.

No, not sure, really. Custom model, never been claimed.

She's been in the shop forever. I was starting to think we'd have to... y'know.

Tell you what, I'll give you a discount for her. Eighty gottsmarks and she's yours.

Pleasure doin' business with ya...

A shapeless thing was launched into the world on a wind.

With bones made of putty, the deity splattered on the wall of the Architect's manor and dripped, like jelly, into a puddle on the floor. There she lay, under a sheet of clean-flowing water, slowly resolving herself one gangly joint at a time, one jutting elbow, knee or knuckle, one saggy melted fold of skin, into a figure.

She sat up, skinny as a reed. Her black hair writhed like thick rubbery strands of kelp, shedding sheets of pure water over her naked frame. Her mouth hung open. She blinked. Her eyelids flapped over yawning sockets, pink, raw, and dripping with interstitial fluids.

Slowly slowly, with the grind of a thousand little splinters snapping past each other, a dense packing of wooden skewers emerged from her sockets, dripping, bloody wet and fresh.

She clutched herself with mismatched hands- eight fingers on the left, seven on the right, and no consensus number of knuckles, each finger perching tense and rigid on her skin like a spider's leg. She felt herself, and found cold- the coldness of the water that lay upon her, but also the firmness beneath, the maze-like bone, the stretch of skin, the squelch of a heartbeat, the warmth. She began to cough. She coughed from deep in her belly, her body heaving from its single cavity, and, eventually, retched up a sheet of silk.

Grabbing the dress and clutching it in both hands like an animal that knew not what to do with its prey, the creature stood up on shaking legs, and looked with blinded eyes. It saw the arch of the vast ceiling, the stone of the columns and walls. It saw the water still raging around its shins. Its mouth tried to form a word with its outsized tongue.

"W... w..."

It saw the dais that lay before it, and the back of the Architect, watching her with a turned-away face, and grew still. What was left of a word fell from its mouth like a teetering droplet lost by accident from a glass.

"...wuh."

There it stood, a being of little glory, but a being nonetheless. It stood there, and waited.

Attack of the Gif

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

it's gonna be a bullrun, i'm tellin' you

'That's my name!!'

The Grand Bazaar

The Bazaar is a Sphere with no sun and no sky, but it does have lights- thousands and thousands of lights. A million million lanterns illuminate a million million streets, bordered not by walls or houses, but by stalls, tents and shacks, makeshift or otherwise, stacked on top of each other into a haphazard infinity. Endless canyons of shops and stores stretch in every direction, where billions of invisible hands peddle every good and service ever seen on the face of Galbar, and even elsewhere.

Sometimes wearing gloves, sometimes rings and bangles, sometimes nothing at all, the invisible hands barter, bicker and chatter into eternity, speaking without true language, their voices never distinct and never alone. From a distance, upbeat music plays- always from a distance.

It is said that if you can follow the beat to its source, you will find the Market God.

Sphere Orientation

The Grand Bazaar is a shallow Cthonic sphere and its borders are thin. Things leak into Bazaar, or are duplicated there: a rock, a flower, a missing sock, a fallen sword, a secret you forgot when you were twelve. When things are forgotten in Galbar, lost in some corner where they will never be found, they frequently pop up in Bazaar.

All these things can be bought, and nearly everything can be sold. Your money, your metal, your cow, your wife, your name, your soul, your firstborn son, all of it has a price, communicated through unintelligible jabber and finger-pointing. The invisible hands are shrewd vendors, and difficult to trick, but they will take rarities where they can get them.

Some natural connections exist between the Bazaar and other Cthonic spheres. In its lower depths, fighting mantids are sold, ants crawl over the Bazaar's messy floors and moths flutter around its lamps, creeping in from the Hive through cracks in the floor. Certain sectors hear the jabber and babble turn to mutter, where crude rations are traded for weapons from the Pit of Trials- a grim market with little adornment. It is said that if one follows the babble closely enough, one can hear a single intelligible voice, an unseen swindler beckoning you to Sanvadam.

Ultimately, most of the Bazaar is a reflection of Galbar, and prices and goods will reflect this. Things that are rare on Galbar will be rare in Bazaar, and things that require godly might to acquire on Galbar will require godly haggling skill to get from the Bazaar, not to mention the time spent, how you say, picking up what fell from the back of the Architect's truck, if you know what I mean. But there's a certain someone who can help you out there...

The Market Lord

The Market Lord is a god that can get you things. Boil away the niceties, toss aside the pretences, and it really is that simple: Chopstick Eyes can Get You Things.

Every material resource imaginable can be found in the Bazaar, be it livestock, minerals, food, wood, fuel or fabric. Any good you can put on a scale and weigh resides here, and will be gladly packaged for the right price. And though the currency of Bazaar may be inconsistent, the prices are always two steps ahead of the market on Galbar. If you intend to pay less, you can very well expect to get less. In fact, even if you pay more, you can still probably expect to get less.

Enter the Market Lord.

The Market Lord is the only being in all of reality to fully understand the ever-changing structure of the Grand Bazaar, the only creature who can always find her way in its maze. The Market Lord knows every bit of blackmail, has jotted down the password for every smuggler's den, is on first-name terms with the matron of every brothel, and she ALWAYS gets a discount. The Market Lord has tabs on everyone, and everyone is eager to pay their debts. The Market Lord speaks the unspeakable language of the invisible hands.

'...and even I can't always get a good deal around here, wouldnya believe it?'

Even beyond her Sphere, the Market Lord is king over her domain. Numbers that pass through her presence do not stack up, and cause does not always meet effect. Wherever there is wealth to be accumulated through trade, it accumulates in the Market Lord's accounts, and wherever mortals are profiting en masse, the Market Lord profits also. Every piece of gossip that passes through a selling-place has passed through her, and she knows the source and passage of every good.

Any place that a shop can be set up, the Market Lord has one there. She has always had one there. Perhaps you don't remember, but soon you will. And when she departs, you will forget again. Just like everyone else.

Who is the Market Lord?

At the counter of half a hundred stores in the Grand Bazaar is an entity named Chopstick Eyes.

Chopstick Eyes has been instructed to adopt the form of a woman, and she took to this duty with enthusiasm, even though 'she' had and continues to have only the most distant conception of what a human being is meant to look like. Her head is too big and her legs are too long. Her arms bend where they shouldn't, and often she forgets the proper number. Her mouth opens too wide and has too many teeth, all of which are much too sharp. Her hair is prehensile. It hides many knives.

Above all, Chopstick Eyes has chopstick eyes. Sticking out from her eye sockets where true eyes would be are dozens of thin wooden skewers, densely packed and filled with splinters. These are slightly mobile, shuffling around like the antennae of a shrimp, with the sound of splintery wood and flesh rubbing together, occasionally shedding or being plucked for use by their master. Occasionally, when Chopstick Eyes needs to store something small, she will skewer it on her chopstick eyes to be attended to later, or simply let the skewers pinch it in place in front of her face. The skewers can also be weaponised.

None of this is particularly human, of course, but Chopstick Eyes never really changes them, even when she makes contact with an actual human. There is something missing from her, perhaps not broken but certainly incomplete, some blind spot that prevents her ever noticing or correcting the abnormality of her body. Perhaps that's for the better.

Chopstick Eyes typically wears a cheongsam dress with a neat cut- colourful, and every day different, but nothing too flashy. It gives her the appearance of a regular front-of-shop employee. Her uniform does tend to change a little depending on what store she's minding.

Her favourite weapon is an oversized meat cleaver.

But who is she really?

Chopstick Eyes prefers to live in the moment. Neutral Good by nature, she's a generous and easygoing creature with a habit of seeing the good things in life and getting, really, really excited over them.

It is the firm belief of Chopstick Eyes that now is the only real thing to exist- the future is chaos, the past is missing, and even memories can only ever be re-lived in the moment. It is this thought that has led her to become something of a tasteful hedonist, an aspirant after every art. Song, dance, painting, sculpture, and games, and stories, and cuisine, and sex, and meditation, and ESPECIALLY acupuncture- all these things have value to Chopstick Eyes, and she will pay well for any of them.

Oftentimes, she'll even offer them to you, free of charge, so you can enjoy them too.

Fair trade matters to Chopstick Eyes, as it does to any good economist. She defends the Bazaar and its occupants from fraud and thievery, both in person and by arranging the endless maze, as is in her power to do. She considers it good and just to be good and just. However, she isn't always going to take responsibility for your idiocy. If Chopstick Eyes makes an offer for your flesh, don't accept it too lightly. She's handy with that cleaver.

Chopstick Eyes respects boundaries and generally respects the will of other gods. Not everything can be packaged in a store (though most things can), and Chopstick appreciates being able to see new worlds and new influences. What really matters is that we all enjoy this moment together, without getting too hung up on the future or the past.

After all, all things come to an end.

Àl͝l th̛in͞gs ̛sho̴u҉l҉d ̴com̴e t̛o an̵ en͏d.͘

Al҉l̀ t̛h͏̸̨i͞͞n҉҉g̕͡s̕ ̷̧̢m̧͟u̕s̨̛t̡̨ ̢c̸̢om̴e̢͢͏ ̕t̷͟o ̴̧an̷͡ ̵͝҉e̕ǹ̵̀d̡.͠

A̷̴͢l̷͏l̛͜ ̀͢͝͝t̸̵̨̕̕h̸̀̀́i̧͜͞͏n̴̛͜ģ̸̧͢s͟͡ ̵̨͘W̡̛͡҉̷Ì̵Ļ͡L̨͏̡͞ ̶̨͞҉̢c͢͠҉̷o̵̸m̛̛̕e͘͢ ͠͝͠t̴̀͏ó̀ ͏͢͠ą̵̸͜n҉͞ ̴͡͝͞e̶̡͢n̢͜d̕͘͜͞.̴̶

S̶̡̛̲͍̜̜͍̳͎̬̥̣̺̗̜͙̻̟͠O̸̶̴͚̦̦̯̘̳͇͙̮͍̥͈̬͞O҉̢̥̣̯̖̳̤̞̯̹̭̼̘̱̭̲͘͜N̢͚̠̻̯̼͚͚̟͈̫̼̭̲̫͕̹͔̣͜͜͝.̵̬͉̠͇̦͎̰̯͔͕̦͓̬̙͙̱̙̕͡ͅ

.

...But until then, let's just enjoy the sunlight.

Music

DUMMY!!

@Strange Rodent brought it to my attention that there was a better fit for the Market Lord, actually.

Codeword

Entropicalicious entropicadoodle! OwO

I finally read the OP, included the codewords, and some further explanation on Market powers and connections to other spheres. She'll have plenty to do even before markets become a thing, probably claiming other portfolios.

Also added a bit that says Choppy keeps knives in her hair, because of course she does.