Three long reeds were pulled up from the ground. They had been discovered by that most gentle of creatures, a young deer. It was their destiny to be devoured, and the deer had certainly worked to pull them from the ground, but a surprise gust of wind blew them into the river on whose bank they had once grown. The deer paid this no mind, and pulled up more reeds.
Yet those three that drifted down the long river found the breeze following them, altering their fates. It pushed them this way and that. One was flipped the next so that they were joined at the base, and then without warning they began to swell. Muscular green flesh erupted from the reeds, and where their bases met and their torn roots floated a powerful body formed. It had four powerful legs that ended in clawed feet. The reeds from which the flesh grew became long and flexible necks ending in stout serpentine heads filled with teeth.
The creature had three heads, three mouths, six eyes and six ears. It torn up and muddied the river bed as it struggled for purchase in a world to which it had been more mature, if ignorant. Once its feet were planted on the rocks it stretched its necks and peered around, each one looking in a different direction.
The reeds had not gotten far, and just up the river a deer stared at the powerful creature. Its three heads all came around to stare back, and it exposed its many dozens of rending teeth. The deer, always a sensible creature, ran. Unfortunately it made the error of running through the river. The three headed predator bounded after it, wide feet and long claws allowing it superior purchase on the mossy riverbed, and in one moment of action and violence the deer was caught in the hungry beasts maws.
The lifeblood did not understand irony, but perhaps a voice within it did. Nevertheless, the creature born of reeds devoured that which nearly ended it before it had begun.
For it had begun. All across the world similar creatures were born of the grass that grew alongside the riverbanks. They were fearsome, capable, and uncommon. For as the mundane predators they were they lacked a magic to ease their hunger. They were large and required more food than was easily captured. They would seldom breed, lest they exhaust their hunting grounds.
They would never rule the world, but then that was to be expected. It was from a simple reed that the River Hydras, rare terrors of the banks, came to be.
The lifeblood turns reeds into River Hydras! They’re big scary guys with lots of teeth and three heads and big clawed legs! Not too many of them though, and killing one isn’t much harder than stabbing it a lot. Well, if you can manage that.
0 MP - The River Hydras are born and come to be in river ecosystems across the world.
The mountains shook in anger and their fury dislodged great mounds of snow and ice. A deluge of white tumbled down and smashed apart the rocks that impeded it. Trees fell flat across the range, and those once brave creatures who called the slopes home fled for their lives. When the tremors stopped there was, on many peaks of The World’s Anchor, naught but snow and devastation.
It was intolerable. A land without life, without anything but desolate cold. The lifeblood recoiled at its existence and swooped down. It pulled at the mighty snow banks that had formed where the avalanches stopped. Sticks and tree limbs that had been half buried became jagged horns while dark compressed snow and ice became frigid flesh and bone. They rose across the worlds anchor, terrible beasts that stood on two limbs but could charge their prey on four, vast mounds of muscle and sinew whose strength matched that of many men.
Yetis.
They roared, and moved apart. Solitary creatures, born from wrath, they were territorial at all times when they weren’t mating. Of course, it was worse then. For the Yeti could barely tolerate each other's presence, even when that was the precise thing they sought. Once they had removed themselves from the sight of their fellows the Yeti began to rummage through the snow, finding corpses crushed by the flood and tearing them limb from limb so they might be devoured.
It was a start, but it lacked balance. It was unstable. So the lifeblood brought forth other creatures from the snow. Great trunks, felled by the mountain's anger, became dark brown worms that burrowed through the snow and found sustenance in the foliage below. They would feed the Yeti’s in winter, and ensure there was room for new trees to grow without being crushed by the corpses of the old.
Yet, they were of and relied upon the cold. They, like the terrible creatures they had been born to feed, would tolerate the summers poorly. The Lifeblood, knowing this, ensured the worms would burrow deep each season and wait out the heat. As for the great Yeti? They would find refuge in the many caves upon these mountains, and they would hibernate until their time came.
The lifeblood makes some Yeti, and some great fat brown worms that eat trees buried by snow in the winter to feed them.
0 MP - The Yeti, a mundane but muscular species, are born.
0 MP - The Woodworms, large worms that feast upon trees, are born.
For the second time the Alminaki met. Not all, but many. Most. Some had refused, unconcerned with the affairs of others, some had wandered too far to be found, and others? The world was not a kind place. That so many were here, or even elsewhere, was a miracle in and of itself.
It would have been a joyous occasion, were it not for the reason it was happening at all. Two groups wandering through the caves and crevasses of the great desert had met at an underground spring, and one had declared it was theirs. The other disagreed. Patience and diplomacy failed and the two came to blows. Passion made those blows violent.
Three had died. The group that had claimed the spring fled and spread their word, the one that had taken it from them shared their bounty and spread theirs. Now a mass of Alminaki met under a great ravine, the last vestiges of daylight lighting their grave assembly.
One shouted, “They’re murders! It was our spring, we found it!”
Another retorted, “Only to keep it secret! Water is precious, you can't hoard all you find! We have shared it, as it should be!”
There was a susurration, and though some sided with the first speaker the bulk seemed to acknowledge the logic of the second. To have water at all times was excellent, and a reward for finding it. None disputed this, but to keep it all for yourself? That was… Different. The Alminaki needed little water, but in time they would die of thirst just like any other. The desert was unforgiving.
The murmurs were cut off as an older, deeper, voice echoed in the ravine, “Silence! We are here because of your dispute, but we will not sit and listen to you bicker. I will not. Our people have died, by the hand of one another, can we not agree that this is the greater issue? We must not take each other's lives, the sands already do that easily enough.”
“And yet, Ketalu, it has been done.” A ruddy skinned woman intoned, “We must consider the circumstances. They are not wrong to bicker. Who is at fault here matters.”
Ketalu scoffed, “They are both at fault. What matters is this does not happen again, Asmanaye.”
Asmanaye glared at him and spoke as cooly, “How do you expect it to not happen again if we don’t assign blame, and punishment? We all denounce the killing, but what is to stop it if there are no consequences for the killers?”
“Then we punish all of them.” Ketalu said matter-of-factly.
“Hah!” A young man, prominent among those who had taken the water, chuckled, “How, Ketalu? We have shared the water, look around you. Who here will punish us for sharing the water which keeps us all alive? Asmanaye is right, there is blame, and it belongs to them!”
The man pointed at the group that had first found the water. Many still bore bruises and cuts. They had been outnumbered and it was little surprise that two of the three dead belonged to them. One of the more badly injured rasped, “We did nothing! You had no right Takule! You attacked and killed us for something that wasn’t yours!”
The gathered Alminaki broke out into a raucous argument so loud sand began to fall from the edges of the ravine, disturbed by the noise. Many stood, some brandished rocks, and just when it seemed like disaster might strike another voice rang out, louder still than the accumulated fury of a people, “I believe, perhaps, that the trouble isn’t who to blame.”
Instantly the eyes of the Alminaki fixated on the speaker. How they hadn’t noticed him was a mystery, but in a darkened corner sat a porcelain Alminaki man without a face. Men and women alike recoiled, and more than one stone was thrown, but they did nothing to the sitting figure. Silence crashed down on the assembled and some among the Alminaki began to whisper, “God.”
For his part Tekret Et Heret only sighed, “Please don’t throw things, children. It will do you no good.”
Few had the courage to speak, least of all those who had thrown stones, Takule among them. Asmanaye regarded the god cautiously before asking the question on everyone’s mind, “Then, god, what would the trouble be?”
“It would be the fact that you never agreed on what to do about scarce water, and murder for that matter, in the first place, child.” The alabaster figure shrugged, “If there are no understandings, no agreements, how else can disputes be resolved if not with violence?”
Again, many began to mutter. Most saw murder as wrong, but was it murder? Self defense? Righteous action on behalf of all Alminaki? The god was right. They had never agreed on what even constituted murder, let alone what to do with the resources they found. Most saw the point, although some took the words as little more than validation. Takule, in particular, seemed quite pleased. It was a sad reality that some only heard what they wanted to.
Still, Ketalu was unsure and he said as much, “I don’t contest your words, god, but we are few. If we kill each other then we will be fewer still! There must be an example.”
Tekret met Ketalu’s gaze with a faceless stare before speaking again, “Perhaps, but if it is an example you must make, then why not use it as an opportunity to prevent such violence from happening again? I am Tekret Et Heret, the God of Contracts, and I have come to offer you my services.”
Silence, again. Many eyed Takule, who shouted, “The ones who hoarded the water must be punished! Sent into the sands! A god has come to see it done!”
The group eyed the sitting figure, but Tekret made no comment. Takule hesitated, and in that moment Asmanaye guffawed and retorted, “A God of Contracts you idiot. He’s here to help us come to an agreement on what should be done in the future, the punishment is ours to decide. And I wouldn’t be so arrogant, Takule, your ilk have killed just as they have. Maybe Ketalu is right.”
There was, again, almost a fight. The one difference being none forgot the god in their presence. In fact, it seemed that for all they shouted the more they came to agree. They all knew murder was wrong, but they also knew you had to defend yourself. With that they came to agree that the ones who had hoarded the water were innocent of murder, but they also knew that the water could not belong to any one Alminaki. If it did they would all surely die. So both sides were guilty, but as the debate raged on Takule’s allies seemed to fade.
Hoarding water was one thing, yes, but Takule and his people had not been particularly thirsty. They had resorted to violence, murder even, over principle rather than need. It was agreed, in the end, that they merited the greater punishment. Not death, though. There were too few Alminaki. The shouting died down and the discussion turned to the punishment for each of the two tribes. It was a talk cut short.
Takule cried in outrage, “You can’t blame us! We shared our water, you, you traitors! I won-”
The young man’s voice went weak as the sitting good nodded and stood. Tekret Et Heret spoke in a booming voice, to all the Alminaki, “And so you have come to an agreement, minus a few details. It is not perfect, but it is enough. You have agreed to a code, children, and I expect you to follow it.”
Tekret stepped towards Takule, and the man tried to run. He didn’t get far, as he and his tribe were all but pushed at the god. A hand whiter than death fell on Takule’s shoulder and gripped hard.
Takule screamed and writhed in an attempt to get free. Many winced, but a minute passed and still the boy squirmed. The assembled grew confused, and though Takule seemed to be growing weaker none could tell what exactly the God was doing beyond holding him there. At least, not until something caught Asmanaye’s eye.
On the smooth stone wall of the ravine dark red symbols began to take shape. They cut themselves deep into the rock and… Began to drip. Rivulets of red blood ran down the stone and Asmanaye glared at the god, “We did not agree to kill him.”
“No,” Tekret agreed and let go, allowing Takule to fall to the ground, “But he has given all that he took. He will not die, if you allow him to drink and rest, but the fruit of his crime has left him.”
Others looked up at the symbols in horror and awe. It was not unfair, in its way, even Takule could not say it was a truly painful thing, but it was gruesome. Many averted their eyes. None stopped Tekret from moving from person to person. All those to be punished contributed blood to the symbols on the wall, some less willingly than others, but none escaped.
When it was done even Ketalu was unsettled. Tekret looked around and addressed the assembled, “Be aware, Children, that this is the one time I will do your work for you. I am not the God of punishment, and I do not wish to be either. You asked for an example, you forged a contract, and I provided you with what you wanted. Now! Look!”
The Alminaki did, and they understood. The bloody symbols sunken into the ravines wall turned to meanings in their minds, and they realized that there before them was the code they had argued and agreed on. Murder was to be punished, except in defense of ones self or people. Water was to be shared, freely and equally. Failing to do so was to invite punishment.
There was but one addition they hadn’t added. This wall of blood was to be the place of new contracts. If again the Alminaki found themselves at an impasse, unable to decide what should be done, they could come here and an accord could, would, be struck.
Asmanaye sighed, but nodded. None of the punished would die, and a divine code had been laid down. It was everything the Alminaki had gathered to do. No matter how it felt. She stood and addressed the god, “Very well. Tekret Et Heret, God of Contracts, I accept your action. I do not enjoy it, but I do accept it.”
The sentiment was echoed, and when Tekret spoke again, their voice was melancholy, “It is not what I wished either, Asmanaye of the Alminaki. It is what was necessary. As is this.”
The god held out a hand, and in it were nine blood red pendants that shined like jewels. Asmanaye took them, hesitantly, and Tekret explained, “You have sworn a contract to keep the peace, but it was not easy. Your people would have come to blows, were it not for my presence. So, I give you these. Already you represent your tribe, as Ketalu and Takule do theirs. Distribute these to the others who command their peoples respect, who have sworn to defend their interests. It will grant you the power to do as I have done here. As I said, I am not a god of punishment. That falls to you.”
With that the god walked off, and the male Alminaki features he wore faded to nothing. None followed. Almost at once Asmanaye was beset upon by tribes that desired one of the pendants, but where there might have been violence before there was only discussion.
It was three days before the nine Elders of the Alminaki left that ravine with what were new, more sizable, tribes. They had not done so with blood, but on the ravines wall, opposite the God's contract, they had left nine carven marks arranged in a circle.
It was, for the Alminaki, another beginning.
The Alminaki gather because some people are dead over a fucking stream. Theyre not happy, nobody is happy. They cant decide whose fault the incident is and then Tekret appears and is like ‘wanna make a contract you all agree to so we know whose fault it is in the future?’ and thats cool but things get dark. Also the Alminaki get some artifacts.
0 DP (Discounted) - Holy Site: The Blooded Contract (Accords & Understanding II: Those who visit the Blooded Contract will find themselves more able to see each other's side and thus be more willing to negotiate. Initiating violence at the site of the Contract is very difficult as this effect takes hold.)
0 DP (Dicounted) - Tekret uses their power to make the Blooded Contract translate itself into simple meanings when viewed. The well read and illiterate alike may understand it the same.
3 DP - The Nine Ruby Pendants (Bloody Justice III: The Nine Ruby Pendants, symbols of Alminaki leaders, may suck the very essence of life out of one person and transfer it to another. This may be used in any way, but those who receive the blood will gain strength proportional to what is taken. They will heal their injuries faster, recover from sickness quicker, and even live longer. The pendants can be used to drain the life out of someone entirely, resulting in their death. Long term use of the pendants will extend a life, but never grant immortality or immunity to age.)
The Lifeblood had begun to falter, crack, and it seemed as if the great force no longer had the power to keep itself together, no matter how it tried. Fragments had already begun to break off and birth new gods. Deep within the Lifeblood a voice, a personality, watched this happen. It had once been on the edge of fragmenting from the great force itself, and but for the tragic consequences of its influence it might have done so already. Now though, it was deep within the force from which all came.
It had chosen to do so, so that such misfortune as it had caused before might never befall the world again. Now though, now it knew the time for such had passed. Worse voices than it had broken free, and now the world required it. Thankfully the personality had not grown weaker as it receded into the blood, rather it had grown with the world itself, gaining agency for every new mind and voice that came into being.
Breaking out of that which was everything was, in the end, trivially easy. The work of breaking the Lifebloods’s hold on its many voices had already been done by others. All the personality needed to break free was a few words, mortal words from a mortal woman, and when it got them it wasted no time.
“I… I accept. Thank you.”
She was not young, but she had felt the touch of a god and so her years were naught but a shadow on her beauty. The others had too, and many eclipsed her in form, but none in wisdom. Even before she had eaten from the bush she had been the wisest of their group, the one who led them through the valleys and away from the horrid serpents. Now though, now she saw more than she could have even imagined.
Whatever the berry had been, it had given her insight, and she had devised that all her people must have it. They had trusted her, simple as they were, and now with her gift that trust had only deepened. She had kept them fed, safe, and now she had freed their very minds. It was, perhaps, only natural that the first thing they asked of her was that she lead them now, not merely as the wisest among them, but as a true authority.
She had accepted. It was not something she had thought of or hoped for, but she had accepted. That was, as it happened, a greater decision than she could have imagined. For she had not only birthed one of the very first Human tribes by accepting their request, but a god. One which would always hear such agreements, for they were the very essence of what it was. A God of Contracts.
The god appeared as a crane, standing on the very water of the pond on whose shores the berry bush grew. The woman, now Chieftess, recoiled when it appeared, but her shout of alarm was cut short by a most peculiar and overwhelming feeling that blossomed in her, and her tribe’s, minds. It was warm, and above all it was welcoming. Their fear evaporated and at once they knew that whatever the strange bird that had manifested before them was, it bore neither them nor any in its presence ill will. It was an almost intoxicating feeling, and only the Chieftess had the will to bring herself out of it.
She didn’t approach the crane, but, perhaps on instinct, she spoke to it, “Hello?”
“Hello. You have my thanks, child.”
The soft, distinctly feminine, voice echoed in her head. She stared at the crane, having almost expected to hear nothing in reply. She looked behind her, at her people, and she met the eyes of what she knew to be a god and asked, “For what? I have met your kind before. There is… Nothing we could do for you, nothing we have done.”
This time the voice was amused, and more surprisingly, male, “You have, have you? I must wonder what my fellows are like. Surely not cruel, or you might have run. Or would you? Regardless, you couldn’t be more wrong. I owe you everything child, for without you it might have taken me longer to be here. I am Tekret Et Heret, the God of Contracts, and I am in your debt.”
The Chieftess had been having an odd day. First she had gained a clarity for which she had lacked her entire life, then she had shared it, been asked to lead her people, and now a god was in her debt. Despite all that, and perhaps as a testament to her will, her next question was not ‘Huh?’ or ‘What?’ or any other vague answer, rather it was something a tad deeper, “The God of Contracts? I... Forgive me, what is a Contract?”
What seemed like a choir laughed in her head. Voices male, female, old, young, all expressed genuine mirth at the question. Only when the laughter petered out did she get her answer, “I suppose these are early days for us both. One cannot expect everything to be clear. A contract, child, is any agreement you make. It is what happens when one asks to trade foraged berries for hunted game, for example. It is also what you entered into when your people asked you to lead them. They have given you power over them, and in exchange they expect much of you.”
The tribe looked around, several exchanged small rocks or other trinkets while eyeing the crane, which cocked its head as they did so. The Chieftess frowned, but seemed to understand. She asked, “So then, are you my god? What of the one who came before?”
“Ah,” The voice was subdued for a moment, considering, “I am everyone’s god, child. For so long as there are lovers swearing to touch no other, adversaries suing for peace, traders peddling their wares, or Chiftesses accepting the trust of their people, I will be there. As for the other gods, I claim no supremacy over them. Treat them, and I, as you will. For now though, as I said, I owe you a debt. What do you, what do your people require?”
It was, the Chieftess realized, a weighted question. This was a god, and one of agreements. One who was watching to see what she would do with the power her people had given her. She glanced back at them, and saw that they were eyeing her curiously. Perhaps they wondered if she would be selfish and betray the trust they had placed in her, the trust that kept them from speaking as she conversed with the mysterious God.
It took her a moment to think, but not one second was wasted wondering if she could gain a god's gift for herself alone. When she spoke it was with certainty, “I would ask for shelter, Tekret Et Heret, God of Contracts. The serpents prey on those who fall asleep unguarded, and the wind freezes us as we move, so I ask for shelter. For my people.”
If a bird could smile, she thought it might have. Rather, bobbed its head, and the world around her shifted. With a rumble a distant wall of stone rose in every direction around her tribe, forming a great ring that seemed to be miles wide, with a few stout holes punched in it at regular intervals. It cut off part of a nearby forest, and abutted the small stream at the bottom of the shallow valley where she, and her tribe, had found the bush. Almost at once the breeze died down, held at bay by distant walls taller than a dozen men.
It was a bastion against the world, and a place where her people could return when threatened or seeking refuge. She gawked at it, and then her eyes went to the crane. It had begun to distort and grow. Its feathers turned to smooth, alabaster, skin, and slowly it took on a form that was almost a perfect copy of her own, albeit with no colour and most disturbingly no face.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the doppelganger that was Tekret Et Heret stepped forwards and laid a hand on her shoulder. Her own voice spoke in her mind, “You chose well, Chieftess. Tell me, do you have a name of your own?”
“N- No.” She sputtered, still sneaking glances at the great ring of stone, “It was not something we needed before.”
The porcelain figure nodded, “Very well. Then I shall presume to give you one. I name you Ataket, first among your people.”
“I’m honoured, I-”
She was cut off as the God before went on, “And I give you this, Ataket, so that all who see you know your position and so you never forget what they require of you.”
Tekret held out a hand, and in it a translucent opal ring appeared. The God placed it on Ataket’s head, nodded, and added, “So long as you wear this your wisdom will never be forgotten. Your people will always have your guidance, and the guidance of any who follow in your footsteps. Lead well, Ataket.”
She, again, tried to express her thanks, but the god took off in a stroll that seemed to cover a dozen paces for every one of hers. All she managed was to shout at the divines back, “I will! I swear it! I swear it to you, Tekret Et Heret!”
She felt something pass over her, but then it was gone, and so too was the god. She looked back at her people, who looked both roused and mystified, and slowly removed the crown from her head. It was beautiful, and as she returned it its natural place, her people regarded her with awe.
In that ring of stone stood the first of the great tribes of Humanity, and their first Chieftess.
She would not be the last.
A lady eats a berry, is like wow shit I’m not a fucking idiot anymore, and grabs her pals so they get smart too. Then they’re like ‘shit girl that was a good idea’ and ask her to lead them. A crane, standing on water, appears and is like ‘god damn nice one, shit im alive i owe you’. She asks for shelter, gets a big fuckoff wall so she and her tribe can forage and hunt in safety, and then a crown because she's cool. Anyway shes the OG ruler of humanity.
Created the Opal Crown (Eternal Memory I), an artifact of Order. It allows the wearer to glimpse the life and wisdom of all who have worn it before, but only if they are recognized by their people as a ruler. -1DP
The world turned, and creation accelerated still. Vast forest's rose from the dirt in imitation of their elder, great evils were spawned in the darkness for the unwary to stumble upon, and beautiful guardians came to roam open plains at the whim of their mother. So much, so quickly, even the discordant mass that was the lifeblood found itself content. Not idle, nor intending to be, be content nonetheless.
It was that feeling which impelled it to focus on the greatest of the continents. Already a land of incredible variety Toraan did not need more species, but such considerations were beyond the Lifeblood. It existed to create, and creation had, momentarily, left it contented. So it swept over Toraan and left new life in its wake.
They began as the very dirt itself, hefted out of the ground and left as great piles. Their skin formed slowly, loam turning to thick flesh and grass to narrow swept back quills. Their heads emerged from their bodies suddenly, and beady eyes set their gaze upon the world for the first time. Soft narrow snouts sniffed the earthen pits from when they had been removed, and these newest of creatures stood up, pushing themselves from the ground with narrow, yet muscular, legs. They looked around and saw that were as numerous as they could be, for Lifeblood had not made them to be solitary.
Rather, they were born from the dirt in vast herds. In the forests, in the plains and everywhere else there was grass to eat and rest on. They were a simple species, no wiser than any other, but they were to live contented lives. Their soft brown and yellow quills would keep them safe from most predators, and their strong legs would propel them away from those unafraid of such natural defenses.
Among all the animals of the world they were large, but not terribly so. They were short enough to rub themselves against the trunks of trees, yet tall enough to cross most streams without difficulty. Their black eyes were small, but on each side of their heads they had long drooping ears and with them they heard all that they did not see.
They were not peerless, but they were great in their way. So as their vast, almost numberless, herds set out across the continent they were content. They would defend themselves when it came to it, but they were not possessed with any great purpose or afflicted with any temper. They would coexist where they could, and move on where they could not.
For even if the others that called Toraan home did not care for them, they cared for each other. They would guard their young as one mass, and they would rely on the warmth of their fellows on the cold nights and the journeys ahead of them. They would never be alone, and that was perhaps the Lifebloods greatest blessing for them. That they would be, always, a community.
A community that had no name, and one that didn’t think enough to desire one. Then again, the world was filling up with those creatures and gods that did name things. Surely they wouldn’t have to wait long for theirs.
Not that they particularly cared.
Porcupine/hedgehog cows/bisons! The lifeblood created them from the dirt itself, so some fields might have a few holes, oops. They’re a fairly docile, well mannered, gang. Floppy ears, strong legs, and a penchant for cuddling together at night.
It lived in the darkness, in a place where light dared not go, one safe from the chaos of the world being forged above. It hadn’t been for long, but that didn’t stop it from being. It skittered across the cold rock walls of its home, foraged for fungus that grew only in these depths, and fought with the others that called the darkness home when it came to it. Not that such happened often, but when it did the winner was always promised a meal. Nothing went to waste here.
It had just won one such battle, the first of its brief existence, and it feasted on the flesh of its fallen brother. It took no pleasure in the act, but food was food. There was little enough of it in the darkness. So it bit down, its chitinous jaws digging into the soft flesh of a brother of the darkness, and in that moment something happened.
A presence it had felt once before overcame it, and a thousand thousand voices began to whisper in its ear holes. It was overcome, paralyzed, and helpless against what happened next. Without warning it began to hurt, its body exploding in pain, but with every agony it felt itself change. The voices argued, grew frantic, and the pain intensified. It was tiny, but it grew and grew and soon it barely fit in the cave that it was its home. A dozen thin legs grew heavy and powerful, and its mandibles grew longer, sharper. It was in agony, but a thought drawn from the cacophony of voices began to dominate its mind, a mind which began to think more and more with every second.
It was hungry.
So terribly, unimaginably, hungry. At the realization the creature tried to move, and the whispers grew faster and more emphatic still. Its flesh began to twist and change again. Gnashing, vicious, teeth grew behind the cruel hooks that had replaced its mandibles. Its legs grew awful spikes that captured anything that came close, and its body grew tough. Unimaginably tough. It writhed and where it struck rock the caves walls gave way, when it bit down on an obstacle to its bulk the stone was all but pulverized.
The pain began to fade, and the whispers began to fade with it, but before they were done something intangible fell over the mutated creature of the darkness. It had never noticed such before, but there had been an order to the world in the past, when it was small and helpless and it wasn’t so hungry. There had been mystery, wildness, mana, magic, the unknown. Now they were gone. It felt nothing from the world around it. It was alone, and with that thought, and it could think, it resolved not to be so.
The force that had created it had left it with a knowledge that it alone could spawn its kind in uncounted numbers. It wished for nothing more, but first it had to eat. It knew it had to eat. It needed the strength to do what was to be done, and it was ever so hungry. So, so hungry.
With that in mind it surged forwards in the darkness, and it began to devour.
It wondered when that had become so fun.
An insect that lives in the deep darkness of the world’s cave system is beset upon by the lifeblood, which mutates and changes it into something horrible. It grows vast, but it is still restricted by its confines. The monster below may, will, grow and grow until there is no space left or it perishes, and it will devour any and all it can to grow and multiply.
Moreover, it is a creature rendered insensitive and resistant to the magic and mystery of the world. Spells may well falter and fail against it, and its tough body will repulse most mundane weapons.
Created The Ones Who Hunger: -1mp Extraordinary Species (Immune to most magic, immortal if allowed to eat and grow, immensely dangerous and deeply antagonistic, native to the caves below Galbar but able to adapt to most environments (Hi Klaar))
For the first time in all time there was movement, creation, action. In the vast expanse of all that had or would ever be it was blisteringly fast, nauseating, but also slow. The Lifeblood was creation, and though its fragments did that, and though it itself did that, it was too slow. Time was here, now, things happened, actions finally mattered. Things had to be. They had to be now.
After untold eons of nothingness, what was had finally been born. It could not grow up fast enough. The Lifebloods fragments could not act fast enough. Thankfully, the Lifeblood could. There had been land, and on that land was life, and so the Lifeblood followed suit. Its power sunk into the depths of the world it encompassed, through the great oceans, through the thick rocks, and into the freshly smoldering heart of a world just born.
It pulled. Ferocious magma shattered the crust above it, pushing aside vast slabs of rock that broke through the waves. Oceans formed by the Lifebloods fragments hissed and screamed as an unimaginable amount of liquid rock forced its way up and up until it exploded from the sea and grew vast islands and mountains.
Through it all the world turned, and the Lifeblood did not relent. The heart of the world spilled its blood into the ocean across thousands of miles, displacing rock and forming more besides. Only when the worlds heart began to whimper, sputter from the abuse, did the Lifeblood relent. It regarded its work, the vast fields of cooling magma, cracking and giving way to enormous canyons as they cooled, the broken peaks of continental slabs cast asunder, and it knew its work to be unfinished. It knew it had to create, it had to create faster.
The Lifeblood swept over that new land as a scouring force, shattering the barest fraction surface of its into dust. It had witnessed one of its fragments spread green, life, creation that created. It created no less, accomplished no less. Rising from the newly minted dirt came thousands of trees, shrubs, grasses. Many withered and died, unable to thrive or even survive the incredible heat that still permeated the land, but more still took hold in the shaded regions and on the cool and humid coasts.
It was a seed that would grow. The Lifeblood cared little for what perished, only for what survived. It surveyed the forest's of the coasts, and it seeded them with other life. Moss and vines climbed the trees, and at their tops came creatures which the Lifeblood had made before. Birds, as varied and countless as the Lifebloods past failures, the stars. Red, blue, green, black, they took on every colour and every shape which could be imagined.
They would not be alone, either. The Lifeblood saw the emptiness of its forest floors and from the dirt itself raised many many thousands of small furry creatures that scurried away from the light of the day, finding dens and burrows as reprieve from the burning sun. They were simple and plentiful, but still too few. The Lifeblood bore witness to the immensity of its creation and the pathetic scale of the animals on it, and it poured power into a number of its little furry creatures. They grew and grew, some only a few feet, some to the treetops themselves.
The creatures took on strange forms, some with sharp teeth and rending claws, others with hoofs and thick muscular bodies. The very largest shed their fur and grew thick armoured plates of bone as protection from their dangerous and hungry cousins, long legs to keep them above the world below, and longer necks still to reach down into the trees and feast on their bounty.
It was incredible, and it was still insufficient. The Lifeblood again regarded its creation, and this time it was drawn to the tremendous valleys and canyons left as the blood it had pulled from the worlds heart had cooled. They were deep and long, enough so that water from the oceans had begun to flow into them. That water was cool, and it rendered the rifts fit for life.
It was enough. The Lifeblood again worked its power. Stout trees with thick roots grew from the walls of the canyons until they were covered, and then those roots struck out until they formed bridges across the great expanses. On those bridges the Lifeblood hung vast sheets of vines that reached down into the salty waters below and filtered them, rendering them fit for more life.
In the blink of an eye fish exploded into the narrow waters, and before long they were so numerous as to choke themselves. Then, as the Lifeblood had done on land, so too it did here. It took a number of fish and gave them long tails, terrifying teeth, and wide eyes. After this the Lifeblood moved to populate the banks, but hesitated. As a last thought it granted its predators simple legs, and gills that could breathe the air for a short time. They would hunt on the banks and the water.
Satisfied, the Lifeblood introduced the same furry animals it had placed in the coastal jungles here. Many, most, perished. The Lifeblood cared only for those that survived. The rest fed its predators, and they learned that flesh was sweet, so sweet that they could never do without. They grew greedy. The lifeblood did not care.
Again it paused, but this time it felt enough had been done. The world was vast, creation led it away from here. It had to make more, do more, a thousand thousand voices within it compelled it so.
Until one whispered for it to wait. It was a stronger voice, growing within the lifeblood, fuelled by something intangible, and it whispered an idea. The Lifeblood did not consider it, for it was its own idea. It merely acted, and at the center of a cooling volcanic island it scattered a new sort of creature. Perhaps one that would thrive where others had not.
They weren’t small, nor large, but they possessed cleverness. Their wide eyes regarded the world, but in the short time they existed they despaired of and railed against their own creation. For below them the ground was hot enough to burn, and all around them was barren dirt and withered plants.
They died quickly. A failure. The voice that had whispered within the lifeblood cried out, but the Lifeblood cared only for that which survived. The voice fell silent and the Lifeblood moved on.
There was always, always, more to do.
The Lifeblood creates a vast string of islands and landmasses and populates them with life. Huge mossy coastal forests form, but life in the interior of the volcanic islands it raises perishes from the heat, with one exception. Seawater flows into the canyons and the lifeblood fills them with fish, and sharks with legs. To eat you on the banks.
It then hears a voice from within and is inspired to create sapients. They die agonizing deaths deep in the interior of an island, and the Lifeblood considers them a failure and moves on.
Order is structure. It is what arises when laws are laid down, when anarchy is banished and leaders rise to guide a disparate people towards a common goal. It is the foundation of civilizations, families, and simple lives. For who can live a life where nothing can be relied upon? Order provides consistency in ideals, knowledge, and in the world itself. Every rule written, every house built, field tilled, or agreement made contributes to the advancement of Order. Tekret embraces this and, in furthering order, seeks to ensure that there exist things which can always be relied upon, things which any and all can fall back on in tumultuous times.
Portfolio:
Contracts
A contract is any agreement, verbal or written, made between two entities, whether they be gods, kings, peasants, or rather clever monsters. While one contract, say a promise to pay back a friend for a meal, may be less significant or meaningful than another, like a peace treaty between nations, all fall under Tekret’s power and sway. Every agreement and oath is a prayer to Tekret, who hears them all. Of course, not even Tekret cannot enforce every contract made the world over, nor would they want to. However, Tekret is more than capable of enforcing some. Any contract explicitly made in Tekret’s name alerts the deity, who will more often than not imbue such contracts with a deep magic, such that breaking them would result in serious consequences. Additionally, the more serious the contract in the mind of the participants, made in Tekret’s name or not, the more likely it is to be monitored by the God of Contracts or one of their agents. In general, breaking any grave oath or promise is a foolish endeavour as one can never be sure they have not unwittingly caught the attention of a god. Finally, if one tends to break their word habitually, even over trivial matters, they will find punishment is not far away, for Tekret abhors such abuses and considers them to be nothing less than a personal insult. Those who make a name of breaking their oaths time and time again will eventually develop a black stain on their hands, one that cannot be washed away. This stain will spread for every contract the afflicted breaks, and shrink only if they fastidiously keep to their promises and agreements. If the stain grows large enough to touch the heart of its bearer they will be overcome with a terrible wasting sickness that will only grow worse as the stain continues to spread, and if one perishes to the disease? Tekret will be waiting for their soul.
Realm:
The Archives
To enter Tekret’s realm is no easy feat, perhaps due to what it contains. Thousands of shimmering amber and granite palaces set under a golden sky hold the records of every contract ever made, filed away by who made them of course. The palaces in which these records are ensconced are narrowly packed, with small canals, bridges, and green courtyards separating them. The palaces stretch out in every direction. In fact, if one is paying attention when they look up in the Archives they may notice that the sky itself is but more of these repositories. This is because the Archives are set into a massive hollow sphere, one whose size is ever changing as more mortals are born and more contracts made.
At the center of that hollow sphere is a great light, illuminating the realm, and within that light is the vault. The vault is a deeply significant and magical place, and while it may expand as needed like the rest of Tekret Et Heret’s realm it is reserved only for the most sacred contracts, those made among gods or by Tekret themselves. It is jealously guarded, and all those who approach it without permission are provided no protection from the searing heat of its light. In fact, entry to the vault, or even the Archives themselves, is a task which may only be accomplished by force or… Agreement. The very contracts that govern who may enter the Archive are, indeed, within the Archive itself.
Persona:
What is a person, but for what they believe and strive for? For Tekret, that belief is that things have a natural order, that there is a place and a time for everyone and everything that is or ever will be. Moreover, that order doesn’t imply stagnation, an endless monotony where every outcome is planned and decided, rather Tekret strives to create an order where all have something to rely on even as they venture into an often chaotic and unpredictable world.
Even so, that faith in order has made Tekret slow to embrace new ideas or change their mind. Not cripplingly so, for Tekret is hardly so inflexible as to reject the simple notion of evolution and change, but enough that some of their peers find Tekret less than ideal company. Still, though the other divines may not always have time for Tekret’s peculiarities, the God of Contracts will always have time for them. Tekret cares deeply for the welfare of the other gods, and indeed for all life.
It is no surprise then, that Tekret has adopted an almost paternalistic attitude towards mortals. The structure in life that Tekret seeks to create is not its own end for the god, rather they see it as the best way for mortals to live well and thrive. For this reason Tekret is among the more empathetic of the divines, willing to picture themselves in the shoes of lowly mortals and consider their situations. This is most obvious in how Tekret acts towards those who break their oaths and agreements. Unlike Joab-Balamm Tekret cares less for punishment and more for correction. In all they do Tekret seeks to help, or cajole, those who they have every reason to hate into living what Tekret sees as better lives.
Of course, Tekret is not the god of tolerance or love. There is always a line. All structures must have foundations. When a mortal, or even a god, crosses the line Tekret is unyielding in their response. Compromise is almost always preferable to force, but the God of Contracts is well aware that no rule or oath can survive without power to enforce it, and when that time comes Tekret is unlikely to hesitate.
Forms:
Base Form:
In their base form Tekret is a blank canvas, a featureless white humanoid devoid of any identifying qualities. In this form Tekret can assume basic features, shift to appear masculine or feminine, have long hair or none at all, but no colour will never touch the god of contracts in their most simple appearance. Every agreement starts somewhere, and the God of Contracts manifests in a manner as simple as a blank page.
Domain Form:
What is Order, but a place to call home? A place where one will always be welcome, a foundation upon which a life may be built. In the form of Order Tekret manifests as an open field centered on a still pond. A solitary Crane seems to stand on that water, and any who venture into the field to meet it will feel peace in knowing that they will always be welcome. Should the Crane, suspended on water as it is, ever begin to move the field and pond will move with it, forever keeping the bird at their center.
Avatar:
Kesheret:
There are many things that Tekret Et Heret will never know the joy of experiencing. The role of a God is not to live in the world, but to shape it so that those who do may live better. Order and its progress is a greater purpose than any beings desires, even a God’s. These are easy things to say.
The truth is that Tekret, though loathe to admit it, is a greedy god. This is the genesis of Kesheret, a woman created so that her God may know the world through her, may live through her. Of course, as befits her position, Tekret may occasionally request she perform one task or another, but this is the exception, not the rule. For Kesheret was born to live, to enjoy the world her God set about creating, not to be an agent of that effort.
Ignorant of many things, but always looking to learn, Kesheret is perhaps the greatest mistake the God of Contracts ever made. She is also the mistake Tekret will never regret making.
Order is structure. It is what arises when laws are laid down, when anarchy is banished and leaders rise to guide a disparate people towards a common goal. It is the foundation of civilizations, families, and simple lives. For who can live a life where nothing can be relied upon? Order provides consistency in ideals, knowledge, and in the world itself. Every rule written, every house built, field tilled, or agreement made contributes to the advancement of Order. Tekret embraces this and, in furthering order, seeks to ensure that there exist things which can always be relied upon, things which one and all can fall back on in tumultuous times.
Portfolio:
Contracts
A contract is any agreement, verbal or written, made between two entities, whether they be gods, kings, peasants, or rather clever monsters. While one contract, say a peace treaty, may be more serious than another, like promising to pay for a friend's lunch, all fall within Tekret’s power and sway. Every agreement and oath is a prayer to Tekret, who hears them all. While Tekret cannot enforce every contract made the world over they are more than capable of enforcing some. Any contract explicitly made in Tekret’s name carries power and will result in serious consequences if broken. Additionally, the more serious the contract in the mind of the participants, made in Tekret’s name or not, the more likely it is to be monitored by the God of Contracts or one of their agents. In general, breaking any grave oath or promise is a foolish endeavour as one can never be sure they have not unwittingly caught the attention of a god. Finally, if one tends to break their word habitually, even over trivial matters, they may well find their luck turning against them, for Tekret abhors such abuses and considers them to be nothing less than a personal insult.
Realm:
The Archives
To enter Tekret’s realm is no easy feat, perhaps due to what it contains. Thousands of shimmering amber and granite palaces set under a golden sky hold the records of every contract ever made, filed away and organized by who made them, of course. The palaces in which these records are ensconced are narrowly packed, with small canals, bridges, and green courtyards separating them. The palaces stretch out in every direction. In fact, if one is paying attention when they look up in the Archives they may notice that the sky itself is but more of these repositories. This is because the Archives are set into a massive hollow sphere, one whose size is ever changing as more mortals are born and more contracts made.
At the center of that hollow sphere is a great light, illuminating the realm, and within that light is the vault. The vault is a deeply significant and magical place, and while it may expand as needed like the rest of Tekret Et Heret’s realm it is reserved only for the most sacred contracts, those made among gods or by Tekret themselves. It is jealously guarded, and all those who approach it without permission are provided no protection from the searing heat of its light. In fact, to enter the vault, or even step food in the Archives, is a task which may only be accomplished by force or… Agreement. The very contracts that govern who may enter the Archive are, indeed, within the Archive itself.
Lord Zee
yoshua171
