Lord Zee
MarshalSolgriev
urukhai
Alby47
Crispy Octopus
After sleeping for some time in the Bazaar's most luxurious hotel suite (an edifice of such decadence that the servants were required to salt themselves should a patron elect to eat them), Chopstick Eyes returned to her private design studio and started to think.
This took her several hours.
Once she'd started to think, the ideas came easily. Unfortunately, since they were all crap, she was forced to discard them in short order. Loose leaves of white paper fluttered around her desk, bearing scribbles of big monsters with sharp teeth that said 'rawr' in little speech bubbles. For all her strong points (she had at least two), Chopstick Eyes was not known for her finger-painting abilities.
"Rghughguughuruuuuugh!"
Chopstick slumped on the desk, drumming an amorphous mass of fingers on its surface. She had intended to leave some aspect of herself here, some secretary or emissary to watch over the place and ward off freeloaders while she was gone, but she really had no real idea of what such an entity should be like, or how to make it.
She picked up one of the papers and spotted a doodle of a big stick figure with lots of little sticks in its hands that could be knives, spoons, pens, candles, or who even knew what else. Fingers? Maybe that.
"Grnngggnrgnrgnrngrng."
...
"Fuck I'm out."
_____And
__________so
_______________she
____________________was.
Chopstick Eyes stuck her head out of the glittering waters of the world ocean and felt the sun on her skin again. It was nice, being out here in the Middle Sphere. Warm. Refreshing. Everything was bright and clean and filled with potential. She lay back on the surface of the waters and floated at her leisure.
There was a deep crack, and an enormous shadow rose on the distant horizon.
She sighed.
By the time the stain that had been Chopstick Eyes soaked through the stone of Kirron's new continent and reformed into the shape of a god, Melantha's meteorite and Asceal's garden were both long gone. The little god dusted herself off in blissful unawareness of the chaos that had preceded her.
All around there was smooth igneous stone, glinting with puddles of excess seawater that had been borne up with the landmass or had fallen back upon it after the splash. In the distance, some jagged mountains loomed where the rock had cracked and crunched against itself as it had fallen to earth. Crystal fragments of mysterious origin lay scattered loosely across the stone, some shiny, some purple.
A pretty impressive landscape, all in all. It was not the kind of terrain one would see without a god to throw it around.
"GrgnrngrgnrnrgRRRRRUUUUUUGH!"
So much to do! Chopstick Eyes had been of a mind to find her way up to Azura's Blue to thank her for her aid, or wander off to Narzhak's place to visit as she'd promised, but how could she pass up the chance to wander for a while on this nifty new land? How could she decide where she wanted to be?
Another idea came to her, this one much less terrible. Chopstick opened up her luxurious purse, pulled out the giant cleaver that had been lying on the uppermost layer, and started to rummage.
Yeah, this'll do it!
Chopstick's kite soared merrily in the winds of a young world, yanking at her wrists by its string. Below it hung Narzhak's big cleaver, tied and dangling like a plumb-line under the brilliant silk.
Her plan was quite simple. All her problems really just derived from her inability to be two places at once. Well, that could be solved! If there were two gods with chopstick eyes, she could double the rate at which she visited the outer planes. She could even leave one on Galbar, or minding business in the Grand Bazaar.
Heck, why stop at two Chopstick Eyes? She could make three, four, maybe even ten! She could be her own cheerleading team! All kinds of wonderful possibilities were opening up to her. She just needed the right shape of wind.
Ah. There it was.
The big kite slowly lowered on its string, chasing its master's will. Chopstick wound its remaining string around a spindle and stuck it under an unsteady rock, such that the pull of the kite would sooner or later tip the rock and release it. Then she ran further down the stony plain.
Before long, the kite came unstuck, and surged forward, bearing the great cleaver behind it, barely a few inches from the ground and advancing at great speed. Perfect! Chopstick chose her spot and waited.
The cleaver advanced. The tip of its blade struck sparks off the uneven ground as it flew towards her.
There was an instant of panic.
There was an instant of red.
Then, for a long time, there was black.
A stray flying-lantern wriggled its way out of an abandoned purse and inflated with a pop. Crooning softly, it floated about the newfound territory, flickering a happy light.
Here lay a downed kite, huge and silent, an instrument the lantern had never seen before but nonetheless found pretty. There lay a big knife, seemingly attached to it.
Beyond, there was a long, long bloodstain. It was very dry.
The flying-lantern followed the pretty red pattern until it came to the end, carrying the purse. It looked down and saw two vaguely familiar figures. Crooning, it set down the purse and lay its delicate streamers upon them, pushing slightly, testing for life.
Slowly, the two gods sat up. Each one wore exactly half of a black-and-white dress that had once been striking. Each one had a thin pink scar running down from forehead to groin, dividing them almost exactly down the middle. Each one had a single empty eye socket, and one filled with skewers. They groaned in near unison.
"...Never, ever-"
"-ever, ever-"
"-EVER again," concluded the first one. They both sat there, breathing heavily, knuckling their raw and leaky eye sockets until the chopsticks grew in. They looked at each other. One reached for the purse, the other turning to admire the lantern.
"Hey, little guy."
Mrurrrr.
The other Chopstick reached into the purse and pulled out two identical dresses, one black-and-blue, the other white-and-gold, and tossed her clone the latter. She washed the blood off with some puddle-water and dressed herself, then untied the Narzhak cleaver as the other clone folded up the kite. Neither spoke.
"...Here," said the one in the black-and-blue dress, offering the other the original cleaver, the cooking one. "You'll probably need this."
"Thanks," she replied. "I... Have the kite, so I guess I'm going on up to Azura's place, right?"
A shrug. "Works for me." They both wheezed a chuckle. The black-and-blue-dressed clone pulled a smaller purse out of their purse and offered it to the white-and-gold.
"There's not really much wind around here any more. I'm going to go find some."
"Happy hunting. Are you gonna take this lil guy?"
"Nah, he probably wouldn't last long at that altitude. Catchya."
"Seeya, sis!"
Chopstick Eyes wandered off, leaving Chopstick Eyes to look out over the empty landscape and wonder what was next.
On a whim, Chopstick Eyes sat down on her haunches and scraped off some of her dry blood with a fingertip, then tasted it. She smacked her lips.
"...Salty." But not bad, really, not by any means. In fact, the entire aesthetic was salvageable, red stain and all. Choppy put her ear to the rock and listened closely.
Yes, right there. Water, salty sea water, trapped beneath the rock where it fell.
She looked up. She looked out to the mountains. She could sense the trapped water out there, could nearly smell it. She set off.
"...Come on! Tk tk tk tk..."
The flying lantern followed.
Before too long, she'd reached a flat plateau in the lower reaches of the mountains. She put her ear to the ground again, listened closely, and could still hear water. She stood up and clapped her hands.
"Come on, out you get!"
But the water was not forthcoming, and she barely managed a trickle. She would need a bigger incentive. Chopstick Eyes sighed, reached into her purse for a blank cheque, signed it, and dangled it over the rock, whistling.
The brine began to flow.
"There we are," said Chopstick Eyes, watching as the hypersaturated water crept from mineral springs and slowly filled in the natural contours of the plateau, forming a vast, undead lake. Before long, the ground was covered in a thick layer of pure, white salt, dotted here and there with puddles of unrippled brine.
Chopstick knelt down and licked the salt.
Tastes like frying, she thought. I'll call it the Pan.
Standing up again, she dropped the cheque into a puddle, where it dissolved instantly. Then she reached into her purse. She'd had the soundness of mind to collect some of her own desiccated blood in a little vial, and with nothing more than a drop of spit to moisten it and a shake to stir it up, it came to life again.
"Have fun!" said she, upturning the vial of seething blood. Within a few seconds, it had leavened the Pan, tinting its puddles and pools with bright pink and red. Shortly after, the air began to fizz with brine-flies, and little crustaceans flicked across the water.
She tasted the salt again. Now things were getting spicy.
Still, even with puddles in red and white and reflected blue, something felt quite missing from the Pan. Chopstick Eyes knew enough about horticulture to see that nothing could grow here, at least not without copious amounts of magic. No plants meant no life. The bugs that lived here were probably the only things that ever would.
She stood and thought about it, until finally she saw her own kite lifting a tiny figure over the Pan. For a second she was confused, but things clicked soon enough.
Chopstick Eyes reached into her purse and rummaged around until she found some silk, and a needle.
In swarms and flocks, and loose v-formations, the wild kites twirled and soared and played on the wind. They danced and circled and swooped and zephyred, some blue, some red, some green, and some in every colour. All shapes and sizes, boxy, piscine, avian and crescent, were represented above the Pan, and reflected in the still, solemn salt puddles below. Huge gliders swooped Chopstick's flying-lantern, each as curious as the other.
The Pan had set her finances back considerably, it was true. But really, thought Chopstick Eyes as she unwound the string of an unliving kite and started to run, what was money good for if not this?