The Mercurian government can best be described as two entities, the official one enshrined in law and presented to the solar system as legitimate, and the unofficial one that makes, effectively, all actual decisions. The official government is one of the nobility that, legally, exercises total and complete authority over the planet. Nominally they are totally divorced from the whims of the people and more than able of passing laws merely because they suit them. In reality? The nobility would be lucky if they could secure passage outside one of their sealed communities.
This is because the unofficial government, the Mercurian Assembly, exerts the only real authority on the planet. They, in theory, are a pointless chamber that presents petitions to the noble government, but this has not been the case since they effectively ‘took custody’ of the planet's nobility during the beginning of the civil war. It was the assembly that declared Mercury’s position of neutrality, and it is the assembly that keeps the Mercurian nobles in gilded cages.
Demographics:
The vast majority of Mercury’s population is, of course, Mercurian. Engineered to surmount the unique challenges of colonizing Mercury, especially the claustrophobic conditions of the tunnels, Mercurians are notably shorter than other humans and demi humans. Males top out at about four feet five inches, and women four feet. Additionally Mercurian eyes function best in far red, which is the sort of light most often seen in the otherwise pitch black tunnels they inhabit. Overall they are small, but hearty people.
Economy:
The Mercurian economy, simply put, is colossal. The planet declared neutrality at the very beginning of the civil war which eventually destroyed the gate network, and to this day it maintains that position. Conveniently, this makes Mercury one of the only territories in the Solar System that SolSec, the great fortress around the Sun, does not target. In fact, in exchange for ‘taxes’ the SolSec AI has largely acted to protect Mercury. This has allowed Mercury to invest into one of the largest merchant fleets in the system, one willing and able to take any contract, for any player.
Additionally, Mercury conducts much of SolSec’s trade. While the AI demands ‘taxes’ in the form of raw materials, Mercury has long since exploited the fact that SolSec will accept processed goods as well. At any moment some percentage of the Mercurian fleet is shipping goods for SolSec, but which ships are doing what is a secret that Mercury guards closely. Thus, to protect its own assets, SolSec has occasionally acted in favor of Mercurian shipping. Something which has been a powerful, even if mostly illusory, deterrent to pirates and raiders.
SolSec aside, Mercury is also a natural port. On average it is the entire solar system's closest neighbour, and thus it not only has an advantage in exporting raw materials and processed goods but in shipping things from one planet to another. Further, its neutral position has allowed it to make goods normally available only in one belligerents market accessible from others. In this way Mercury is one of the solar systems great links. Even as nations battle, Mercury connects their economies.
Of course, that is not the only way Mercury benefits from the battles that still rage across space. The planet officially prohibits arms exports, but only to government entities or from government entities. It is because of this, rather obvious, loophole that there is a vast weapons market on Mercury, dominated by tens of thousands of firms of varying sizes. Beyond weapons, massive amounts of conventional goods are shipped from Mercury. The Mercurian economy will cater to anyone, even and especially when it becomes difficult for them to source whatever they need. It needn't be said aloud, but Mercury has armed countless rebel groups with one hand while outfitting their governments on the other.
The rain was falling hard. She'd just been out in the thick of it, but here there seemed to be some relief. The driving downpour died down to a patter under the stand of dense trees she sheltered in. Listening to the storm, feeling the soft drops falling from canopy’s leaves, it was enough to make her reflect on things, her situation, and consider that if she was going to die, this wasn’t the worst place. At the thought she looked down.
The wound was still there. It didn’t look worse, but she'd noticed her vision blurring. She leaned against a tree, and before she knew it she was sitting down, not even minding the damp moss around the trunk soaking her pants further. By now, she imagined it didn’t matter. Her head lolled to the side, so she could see the trail she’d left.
Blood. It was being washed away, even here under the trees, but it was there. It would lead the thing to her. To this place, where it was already pooling around her. She should have been more worried about that but, well, she wasn’t worried about much right now. The pain was nothing but a dull afterthought, even though the beast had claimed a solid chunk of her thigh. She was too cold to feel it much. To feel anything much. To think, too much.
The storm had chilled her, but not like this. It hadn’t left her without the energy to shiver. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to cry out, pray, or even just cry. It was too late, though. It wouldn’t be much longer now. There wasn’t a thing in existence watching her now, except for that which was likely to eat her when she drifted off.
Her eyes fluttered, and for a second a wave of panic took her. She didn’t want to die. Again though, it was too late. Even the fear faded. She felt herself fade with it. She’d started to notice, now, that there was something there, in the space between life and death. She felt a pull, a knowing tug, towards something new, something else. She just had to let go.
She didn’t want to. How long had she been here now? It felt like a lifetime. Longer. Why was she so afraid? She’d been here so long, now. Maybe it was time to go. Maybe it would be better if she stopped fighting-
“Mmm, no, I don’t think so.”
She blinked, and even the effort of that weighed on her. Was she losing track of her own thoughts? It made sense. It had to be that-
“No, not that either. And don’t go guessing, please, you’re hardly in a state for it. You’re dying, you know?”
That was obvious.
“Well, no need to be rude. It’s not like you are going to die.”
She wasn’t? That didn’t make sense. She wasn’t just dying, she could feel it, something had happened. Oh. She wasn’t breathing. She was dead.
“Not quite, but I did need to wait until now to, ah, there we are.”
She felt the pull vanish, and something replace it. A warmth. A closeness. Without thinking to do so she heaved a massive breath, and then collapsed coughing. She was alive? That was, that wasn’t possible. The woman felt at her leg, at the gaping chunk of flesh she’d lost, and found only a long jagged scar. As if her flesh had been returned to her, and fused to what remained. The voice spoke again.
“Not precisely, but close enough. You’ll never learn if you don't have something to remember these things by, you know? Now, Amerra, would you care to guess what I am? Am I the madness that’s been festering in your mind, after all these years alone?”
Amerra felt at her leg with wonder, and she looked everywhere, up, down, all around her. She saw nothing. Heard only the rain. She swallowed hard, throat dry from the experience of dying, “Are you a Skywalker? One of the creators?”
“Yes, and no!” The voice was cheerful as it explained, “You see Amerra, there was a time before the Skywalkers existed. Well, most of them in any case. Just as your people are born, so were they! Albeit, under somewhat less messy circumstances. So, as it happens, I am a Skywalker! But, as I've just been born I can’t profess to be your or anyone's creator.”
That was beyond impossible. It was a blasphemy of the highest order. The Skywalkers had always been, from the very start, they had watched her people forever! Nevertheless, what was there to say against the truth of her own eyes? Amerra tried to speak a question, tried to say anything at all, but the shock muted her.
The voice didn’t seem to mind, “A good point there, blasphemy is it? Funny, how the others are so loathe to share. Well then, best keep this between you, me, and the family then.”
The family? Her father was a priest of Avend-
“Not yours, obviously.” The voice interrupted, “I mean our family Amerra. The ones who risk everything, just to see more than anyone else. Your brothers and sisters. My Explorers.”
Ah. So that was the Skywalker that had found her. Or maybe the one that had just been born here. Amerra didn’t care, she was alive. Better than alive, the longer the voice spoke the stronger she felt, the clearer her vision became. Soon she could hear the croaking of frogs in the rain, the rustling of leaves above as winds whipped the forest’s cap. She asked the question, “What did you do to me?”
“Pull you back from death?” The voice joked, “Or do you mean, the rest of it? Nothing bad, I assure you, but I won’t be spoiling the surprise.”
The voice paused, and Amerra heard the crunch of a heavy footfall from just beyond the trees. When it spoke again, it was with some urgency, “And it seems we have a guest. One you expected, if I recall. Try not to die?”
It was unceremonious, but it was all she needed to hear to know the Skywalker had gone from this place. The warmth faded, but she felt the forest all around her. Saw the world through the trees.
This time, she wouldn’t get caught.
A woman, Amerra, is dying far from everyone else. As her blood runs into the ground a voice speaks to her, and before we know it she has another lease on life!
[Nature's Sense II] Amerra has been made into a hero and granted the power to sense the world through the nature around her. It is not a perfect sense, and only extends a hundred meters or so, but it will make it nigh impossible for her to be ambushed so long as she remains in the wilds.
A mystery is not that which is unknown, but that which defies knowing. For, how can anyone know something is a mystery if they have not sought to find or explain it, and failed? And what, then, is a mystery that can never be solved? Certainly, not one worth worrying about. Unanswerable questions, unexplainable phenomenon, these are the lesser mysteries in the world, for they have been and always will be. Rather, the greatest mysteries are those which are surmountable, but resistant. Among these high mysteries are conspiracies, plots, vanishings, and some of the very secrets of the world.
Portfolio:
Explorers
There are powerful gods in the world, ones who hold sway over the skies and tides themselves. They determine the fates of civilizations, determine the very direction of history. There are also lesser gods. They are not often spoken of, though some might prefer that. For they are small, and the few things they reign over all the more precious for it. The Nameless Patron is not the god of any great concept, but of a group, an idea, and a lifestyle. The Patron is the god of Explorers. They are those that seek the unknown, and in doing so venture further than any that have come before them. Whether they venture into the most dangerous of lands, or seek the most coveted knowledge, at great expense and self sacrifice explorers uncover mysteries and revel in the challenge of doing so. The Patron both aids these courageous few, and sets obstacles before them. After all, there is a world to discover, and it is one that will pull no punches. Only the greatest of Explorers are fit for the task.
Realm:
The Labyrinth of Worlds
The Labyrinth of Worlds. It is a dark forest, an endless desert, an underground maze, a mountain peak, or even the depths of the sea. The Patron’s realm is a shifting one, a place where no conditions can be anticipated, and no preparations can be made. For mortals, it is a challenge beyond any other. For gods? An annoying vanity project. Regardless of what it might be, the Labyrinth obeys only a single master. The Patron alone can still the realm, even bring order to it. Of course, that isn’t to say she would.
Persona:
Impolite, unhelpful, sarcastic, crude, these are all things often said of the Nameless Patron. While these and other phrases fail to paint the full picture of the Patron’s personality, they certainly aren’t unfounded. The Patron is at times all these things. Most often, she is these things when dealing with those apart from her ‘chosen’ as it were. Her dedication and love for those who count themselves as Explorers is absolute, unquestionable, and quite apart from her disdain towards everyone else.
As to why she seems to regard both other mortals, and her peers, as less than those she embodies, that is a trickier question. In part it might be ideological differences, the Patron certainly holds opinions unpopular among the ranks of gods, but that would only be in part. The Patron, if asked, might well admit that she sees herself as a ‘better’ manifestation of the lifeblood. She might say that the gods who embody concepts or primordial forces are too impersonal to be relevant, if she were asked.
As to whether the Patron is a new sort of god, well that stands as a matter of debate. She certainly thinks she is.
Forms:
Base Form:
The Nameless Patron’s most basic form is that of a Human woman. Black hair, green eyes, and a deep olive skin define her appearance in this state. In this state she tends to don extravagant dresses, often ones which are constructed from basic elements or ideas as if to show off her divinity.
Domain Form:
The Nameless Patron’s most domain form can best be described as a presence. In this form she is entirely incorporeal, and yet hardly stealthy. Any god, and more than a few mortals, would be more than capable of discerning her presence even if she were to attempt to remain inconspicuous in such a form. Her presence can be keenly felt, and is often described as weight and unease.
Avatar:
The Patron’s avatar is, quite simply, It. It is a peculiar mist that roams the unseen, forgotten, or neglected regions of the world. It exists both to aid, and hinder, the explorers of the world.
The endless, sandy beaches of the Kubrajzar deserts baked in the sun, almost to the point where one could wonder whether water could even exist nearby. Had the sun had its way, all the water would’ve likely boiled off this beach a long time ago. Except for the odd brave bird scanning the seas for anchovies, life was rightfully absent from this large slice of wasteland. The waves lapped weakly at the deserts, and the moisture they left behind seemed to disappear in an instant. Salt and oceanic refuse coloured the beach a murky gray, and it all it all just looked like the most hostile place on the planet, save for a few others.
And it was there one could find a corpse. A corpse? No! It was very much alive, give or take a few heartbeats and exhausted wheezings. He had done it, the madman: Twilight had swam across the largest ocean in the entire world, and he swore to himself and anyone who was listening that he would never do it again. His sea-salt crusted eyelids cracked open to reveal bloodshot eyes looking up at the burning fate awaiting him if he decided to walk forward. While not optimal, he also had no idea where these drighinas were - they could be living in the desert for all he knew. He dragged himself around in the slushy sand until his legs remembered how to stand. Then he cupped seawater into his hands, purified it and drank deeply. These divine powers were coming in handy, even if their owner bugged him about using them responsibly every now and then. What did she know about responsibility anyway.
The avatar rose up slowly and stretched out. He had done this all on his own. He was his own man, and nothing could stop him now from completing his mission and learning the secrets of worldsong!
NOTHING!
He heard it too late, all things considered. A distant noise, hardly audible over the lapping waves, rapidly resolved itself into the familiar sound of a woman screaming, "aaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHOHNOOOOWATCHOUTDOWNTHEREEEEE!"
Had he been mortal, his every bone would have broken and he would’ve rightfully been pronounced dead on the spot. However, considering he was in fact part deity, he managed to get off the hook with only a mild concussion and an aching back. He had been flattened against the sand once again, though, brought low by the weight of another, presumably female creature. Wheezing for air, he struggled to produce words one might say in a situation like this, such as “hello” or “how’s your day” or “get off me, dumb bitch”.
The dumb bitch, having had her fall cushioned by Twilight, wasn't more than a bit stunned. She lay on Twilight, looked up at the desolate landscape around her, and only after a good minute did she bother to check on the man under her. Or get off him. Despite her shaky legs the woman got to her feet, took a few deep breaths, and began lightly kicking Twilight, "Are you uh, alive? Hello? Helllllllo?"
The man groaned and slithered weakly around in the sand. With every kick, he whimpered angrily until he finally said, “YES! I’m alive! Stop kicking!”
"Oh, good. Great. Whew," She eyed Twilight's sand caked face for a moment before, eventually, asking, "Sorry are you Twilight? I'm supposed to meet a Twilight."
The avatar dusted his face free of sand and got to his feet. ”Pfft! Pwah, eh! … Yeah, I’m Twilight. Who’s askin’?” He beat the sand and leftover kelp off his clothing.
The woman stopped, hesitated, and slowly pointed to her face, which bore an increasingly concerned expression, “...Me? I’m asking?”
Twilight sucked in deeply. ”I understand. I realise this. It may have crossed my mind that it is, in fact, you - the only other person within what I can guess is a radius of forever - who is asking. If you would allow me to explain for a moment, that phrase is merely a way of asking…” He cleared his throat. ”WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST SAY THAT,” The woman screamed back before, rather suddenly, deflating and protesting half heartedly, “It’s not my fault existing is so stressful! That fall wasn’t even a quarter as fun as I thought it would be, and then you start asking crazy questions and yelling at me. This is terrible.”
After a moment spent moping she let out a huff, stood up a little straighter, and held out a hand, “But I’m Kesheret. Which is long, so you can call me Kesh. Or K. Errrr, no, Kesh works. Anyway my Mom, or Dad I guess? Momad? Damom? Look Tekret is mad at you and sent me to tell you to go grab a sword and give it to a guy.”
Twilight froze. ”Oh, uh… That so. See, I was hoping it’d take him, her, it some time to, y’know, find me and give me something to do in order to, uh, repent. I’ve kinda got plans already aaaand, y’know, not too keen on being a delivery boy just yet.”
“Wow,” Kesheret regarded Twilight incredulously, “Seriously? I’ve been alive for like, a week, and I already get that's not how this works. Uhhh, but if you’re insisting well... I guess I can let mom know? I mean her first idea was to just have a whale swallow you, and oh! Oh! I did suggest she curse you with impotence. Maybe that one?”
Twilight flinched. ”W-well, I would just have Gibbou uncurse me! How’s that, huh?!” He looked up to the sky. ”You’d do that, right?” No response. He deflated and made hard eyes at Kesh. ”Look, look, look…” He pursed his lips. ”You said you been alive for a week, right?”
“Weeeeeellllllll,” Kesheret pursed her lips in thought, turned around, and started counting on her fingers before nodding to herself. Task done, she turned back to face Twilight with a flourish and proudly declared, “Nine days!”
Twilight scoffed in exaggeration. ”Nine days! Why, that’s plenty old enough to think for yourself, missy. C’mon, think for a minute - what has your mad-dom ever done for you?”
“Uhhhhhmmmm, made me?”
Twilight clicked his tongue in disapproval. ”Rookie mistake, kehd. Sure, they might’a done something dumb like that - like -making- you, but what have they done for you lately, y’know? Like, when was the last time they gave you help when you were in trouble? Or the last time they invited you out for a cup’a tea? Nah, nah, you gotta stick it to the man, ‘cuz the man’s never gonna look out for you. You get me, sister?”
“Well, one: I’ve never actually been in trouble, though that does sound fun. Uh, two: not sure what tea is? And pretty much every day Tekret was with me she was a lady.” Kesheret took on a contemplative expression for a moment before finishing, “Also I don't think I’d want to stick things on Tekret even when she’s, he’s a man? Kinda sounds messy.”
Twilight smirked. ”So y’see… You -could- get me to swim aaall the way back and, what, receive, like, empty thanks and another mission… Or…” He hooked his arm around her neck and gestured at the horizon. ”... You could try aaall the things you said you’ve never tried before - and more - if you do a liiittle bit of duty shirking.”
Kesheret ducked out of Twilights hold, turned to face him, and threw a thumb over her shoulder, “Sword’s on the other side of the desert. Which is where I’m going, to try all those things. Because unlike some, vaguely fish smelling people, I don’t piss off gods and get duties to begin with.”
With that Kesheret set off, took her first long steps into the blistering heat of Kubrajzar’s wasteland, promptly stopped, squinted in an effort to see anything other than sand and hesitantly added, “Buuuuuuut if you want to tag along, I won’t tattle?”
”Not tattling? Now you’re speaking my language. Buuut I have something I need to do first - I gotta find a drighina. Promise it won’t take long - I’m just tryna learn the secrets of the worldsong. A week or two max.”
A woman's head turned one way, then the other, and after seeing nothing but water and sand she concluded, “Well, no drighinas here. So uh, I was gonna go that way?”
She pointed into the desert, “Do you have a preference or? I don’t know if the uh, ‘world song’ has a directional bias, but I’m pretty sure I don’t.”
Twilight shrugged. ”I heard they live by the sea, so… I saaaaay we go that way.” He pointed due north.
“mMMmMMMmMMMMMMmmMMMmmmMMM, ok?” Kesheret mimicked Twilights shrug and set off....
It was a beautiful day on Galbar, or a horrible windswept one. Or it was blistering. Or freezing. Quite frankly Galabr had more climates than was worth mentioning. The lifeblood wasn’t a fan of minimalism, really. Anyways the point is, somewhere someone was having the day of their lives. It was beautiful, where they were.
That person was, in fact, having the best day of anyone on Galbar. Why? Well, a god on high had made a mistake. It wasn’t something that happened every day, or every century, but the gods were as far from infallible as their creations. Age brought wisdom, yes, but nothing removes that particular stain of intellectual dishonesty which begins with ‘Well I thought it was a good idea’.
Because it was not a good idea. It was a terrible idea. The god who’d done it was entirely aware of this. In the future they’d defend themselves, if it came to it, but really they’d done it to see what happened. What happened was not good. Well, not good for certain people. For one person it was effectively the greatest thing that would ever happen.
You see, Tekret Et Heret, the god of Rulership and Contracts, the King Maker, had lost something. Well, it wasn’t lost so much as thrown at Galbar with a reckless abandon. Tekret had, as was their fashion, created something in the hopes that it would help some would be king or queen. This time though, they'd decided to leave it around and see who found it.
King or Queen, it was just a title after all. Often a good King was one who just blundered into it. That was the theory anyway. The execution had come up short. Extremely, terrifyingly, short. For Tekret had created an artifact of terrible power, something which could change the fate of nations.
It had been meant for a man or woman to change the world, or at least a corner of it. Instead, it had landed in the hands of Gregory. Gregory was, as it happened, the most alcoholic man currently alive, or close enough that the competition was essentially a toss up. He’d imbibed so much liquor that he was half blind, yellow in the face, and utterly destitute.
At least, until a ratty old book had fallen from the sky and knocked him out. Had Gregory been a smarter man, he might have thrown the book away, after all it was clearly trash thrown from a window. Sadly, Gregory was stupid like a fox. He’d opened the book, learned what it was, and using a finger covered in gutter filth written something in it.
This was how Gregory, a man with maybe a year or two of life left in his frail body, became Supreme High Lord King Emperor Man The Best of his shitty impoverished Mydian village. How did this happen? Well, he wrote it. Gregory had, through absolutely no merit of his own, stumbled upon the Book of Law.
Unfortunately, he had once been a better man and so knew how to write.
He wrote that he was in charge.
Tekkie throws an artifact at Galbar. It goes poorly. Now Supreme High Lord King Emperor Man The Best rules over a Human hamlet on Whakarongo.
-5MP Book of Law: [Iron Decree V] The Book of Law is a tome that will turn anything written in it into Law. Disobeying Laws written in the book is extremely difficult, and will result in severe pain for the duration one is committing a crime (as seen by the book). One must be made aware of the law before the book takes effect. Its influence extends nearly ten miles.
The real problem, she reckoned, was that she’d never been good at vacations. Oh sure, if Illyd Dyll were to actually arrive and poke his head into her portal he’d see her lounging on a plush chair with an umbrella woven of solid gold keeping the light away from her face, but that didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t on vacation anymore. Tekret et Heret, the god of Rulership and Contracts, was back at work. At least, in her head.
New contracts, agreements, and some oaths were being filed away in thousands of amber palaces all around her. Sometimes she’d go out and file them herself, but that had always been an affectation. She’d done it because, well, there hadn’t been a reason not to. It was better than just sitting there. Now though? Well the beach was as good a place as any to watch the world, file away its agreements struck, and meddle with it here and there.
Her talk with Artifex had reminded her why she’d even bothered for two thousand years. The work wasn’t always great, and she’d have loved to dump the filing on another mind, but playing with things down below? Finagling to see her vision for an orderly and righteous society end up on top? There really wasn’t anything like it. Building a world.
Sure she made a mistake here, an error there, but that was the fun. Not even the gods could see the future, and why would they ever want to? As embarrassing as her follies had been, they’d helped her learn. She knew where to let the mortals have free reign now. That, and where to push.
Now, she was about to do just that. Not to shift the fate of civilizations, or to impact countless lives, but to give her more time to do those things in the first place. Cadien had been right, an Avatar would ease her workload, but something like that could never really choose to help her, and if even if could why would it?
So, she reasoned, the answer was simple. Foist the boring parts of her job, the filing mostly, onto someone who could choose. Who could be compensated. She was a god of Contracts, so why not contract the work out? Give a mortal this or that in life and in exchange get a soul to help with the work when they died. It was a raw deal, but she didn’t doubt there were an abundance of people who’d take it.
The upside was most of the ones who’d agree probably deserved an eternity filing away contracts. The downside was they might not be the best workers. Thankfully, that second bit could be fixed. After all, once their souls belonged to her, who's to say she couldn’t tinker with them.
It was a good plan, in her opinion. There was, however, a problem. She was trapped up here, and while she could spy around with her Seers there was a limit to how useful they were. Especially when it came to finding out what mortals wanted. Especially what they wanted bad enough to sell their souls.
It was probably one of the usual things. Wealth. Power. Sex. The issue was which mortals wanted which one of those, and how badly. No, it wasn’t a task a god could do efficiently. Oh Tekret didn’t doubt she’d be able to do it, but it would just be more busywork in an effort to reduce busywork.
That didn’t make sense. So then, she had to find an agent. Someone who would do that busywork for her. Of course that agent would be better compensated than the ones they’d be getting to sign away their souls, but it wasn’t a position she’d offer just anyone. After all, whoever took it would have to be immortal. Those few who had that little blessing on Galbar were problematic, in that they tended to stick around and remember all the gods little fuckups. Some were the gods little fuckups. So faith and loyalty were important.
Almost as important as not being boring. Again, forever was a long time. Tekret had absolutely no intention of blessing one of her less interesting servants with eternal life. Some of the priests... She shuddered at the thought of having to answer their questions forever. Oh she was a god of Order, but that didn’t mean she wanted to discuss nothing but tax systems for a few thousand years. The idea was enough to make her blood run cold.
Not that she had blood, really. Or could get cold. Mostly, she just snapped her fingers and was wearing a warmer sundress. If such a thing could be said of sundresses at all. So, Tekret reflected, she needed an agent who was faithful, loyal, and interesting.
A tall order, but she had someone in mind.
She grit her teeth as she felt it, the sting of the lash upon her back. The feeling of blood forming rivulets that ran down her naked shoulders and onto the floor. It hurt, but that was precise why she did it. Again, she brought the lash against herself and winced at the pain. Some in the House of Order called her mad, but only out of ignorance.
She bore them no ill will. Not anymore. The anger she felt at their gibes and taunts was carried away with her blood. She had started this ritual for penitence, but peace hadn’t been hard to find. The weight of the world, anger, resentment, sorrow. All of it could be banished with the lash. Pain was an excellent focus.
Satisfied with her work, even as her bloodshot eyes ran with tears, Hesari brought the lash to her basin and cleansed it of blood. It was a mark of the House of Order’s status that every member had a basin, and enough water to fill and drain it as they pleased. She knew it was more than she deserved, but unlike some of her brothers and sisters she did not take such gifts for granted. She paid for her comforts. Every week.
She found a small clay jar and filled it with water before using it to wash her back and cleanse her wounds. They were light, but deep enough to scar. The patchwork of pallid raised skin across her back spoke to that. When the blood no longer ran and she could see the wounds she applied a smear of oil to each injury, sealing it from the world.
With a pained sigh she picked up her robe and began to get dressed. It hurt, but her body felt lighter for the abuse. It was something she needed these days. Even craved. The only problem was that she could not do it forever, or even for long it seemed. She might be called upon, and there would be no room for injury or weakness if that were to happen.
She prayed it didn’t. Tekret et Heret had intervened before they were needed in the past. No true servant of Order would shirk their duty if it came to it, however. Everyone in the House of Order was aware that Ketrefa had become rotten, many of them had played a hand in furthering that rot. They had sought redemption, though. She had sought redemption. Now it fell to them to excise the disease if called upon.
It was rare, a thing that had happened only twice in written history, but the House of Order knew its duties. One word from their god and they would tear the King of Ketrefa off his throne and find another. Blood would run in the streets. She had to be ready, if it happened. Even as she hoped that it would not, that Tekret would correct the King’s weakness before she was ever needed.
So, she wondered if she should stop this ritual. To be ready. Then again, she had seen some of the other priests. The House took in criminals and killers like her, but the cult was not closed to normal folk. They were soft, weak even. She envied it, but it was a gift she had willingly surrendered long ago. Her place was to be hard. The militant arm of a faith that professed no martial capacity.
“Awfully dramatic, don’t you think?” A playful woman's voice interrupted Hesari’s thoughts, and her head whipped around looking for the trespasser. If one of her peers had gone so far as to mock her in her own room she would-
“But that’s why I’ve always liked you kid. You never played games, trying to get around your vows, you gave yourself to me entirely.” The voice echoed in her mind.
Hesari’s blood ran cold. Was it now? Had her god come to her to deliver a verdict on a kingdom? She spoke, haltingly, “Holy one. I- Is it time?”
“Mm,” The voice mused, “No, not for that. Not yet. I’m here for you kid. You’re eh, faith, hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’ve got a job for you, if you’ll take it.”
“Me?” Her breath caught and she reflected upon her life. It had not been a good one. She had been callous, even evil, and now this? It was beyond her in every way, and both she and her god knew she wouldn’t refuse, “I will. I’ll do anything you ask.”
“Knew you would kid. This will hurt a little, but hey you're used to that aren’t ya?”
Before she could ask a question she felt the scars on her back stretching, burning, tearing. She bit back tears and in her mind she began to see what her god was doing. On her back a contract was being written, her scars the ink it was penned with. She could not see the contract, but at once she understood it. Her god's dilemma, her part in it. She felt an entire new world opening up to her, but only halfway.
She understood as much as she needed to. For the rest? She still needed to sign. It wasn’t a question of how. She reached for her lash, and in one motion savaged her back with it. The gashes it left were brutal, deeper than she had ever cut, but they mended at once and formed into her name, written in a script none in the world but she understood.
Her mind exploded. She grasped things she had struggled with all her life, and she knew at once that what limited her now was knowledge, not ability. Moreover, she blinked and found herself little more than an apparition. Her god had changed her in every way, and as she blinked again she returned to the world as an agent. A proxy for her god.
She breathed heavily, “Thank you. I understand it. I can do it for you.”
The voice faded to a whisper as it bade her farewell, “I know. Be seeing you kid.”
Hesari, as she discovered when she revealed Tekret’s visit to the rest of the House, was not the only one Tekret had visited that day. After a thousand years Tekret et Heret had formally blessed his faithful in the Highlands, declaring them his chosen servants and approving their doctrine. Every member of the House, from all across the Highlands, had heard it be done.
Moreover, their patron had left them with a gift. Knowledge of the script that graced Hesari’s back, and the power it held. Across the Highlands priests of the House began to pen contracts that could never be broken. Or, more accurately, not broken without consequences. The House of Order had earned their gods trust, and so gained some of the divines power.
It was a poor gift, compared to hers.
Tekkie is bad at vacations. It is known. Thankfully Tekkie remembers that work is cool, well most work. Some work sucks. What do we do about work that sucks? Easy, we get other people to do it. Sadly, these other people can’t be avatars. Avatars can’t really choose, soul fragments they are, so they’re right out.
So who’s in? Idiot mortals who sell their souls of course! They can’t complain! Thaa might, but better to ask forgiveness than permission. Tekkie doesn’t want to go buying souls though, so he appoints a HEAD SHOPPER and gives her some really cool blessings to go do that. Ofc he’ll have to pay the people, if she can’t, but that’s not a biggie.
Oh, also the House of Order, Tekkie’s cult in the highlands, can now pen magic contracts. Actually, all of Tekkie’s cults can! Cool.
-2DP Enhanced (Granted Tekret Cults Ability to Pen Inviolable Contracts) Trained members of the House of Order (and all other Tekret worshipping cults) will now be able to create inviolable contracts. These are agreements with baked in consequences for violation, agreed on before they are signed or spoken. Consequences manifest in anything from minor curses to death. These contracts are written in a new, holy, script.
-1DP [Agent of Order I] Hesari has entered into a contract with Tekret et Heret, and the god of Contracts has used her flesh to record their agreement. Her back is covered in writing, made from scars. As an Agent of Order Hesari has become immortal and is now able to see through the Seer birds as her patron god does, albeit only ones that are nearby. Within a few hundred miles at most.
-2DP [Mind of the Master II] Hesari is granted vastly expanded cognitive abilities that tie in with a sharpened ability to learn and comprehend information. With this boon not only can she quickly become a scholar in many fields, she can rapidly learn Mana Magic and access Mindcasting.
-2MP [Ethereal Transition II] Hesari gains the ability to push herself out of the world, as the Seer birds do. In this state she is effectively a ghost, able to fly and phase through walls, but utterly incapable of interacting with the world. Transitioning between this state and her normal one can be done with a thought, provided Hesari can still her mind.
It was whispered everywhere, from the dank and dirty streets of slums beyond the wall all the way to the very halls of power themselves. Men and women of status hushed their voices as they spoke it under the light of illusory braziers. Street rats and cretins spoke it in the darkness, and even there they were careful. Cautious. For it was not a word you could utter freely. Everyone in Ketrefa, the great city, knew the word and what it referred to, but that didn’t mean they could speak it aloud. That terrible word.
Abomination.
The guards were always listening for it, and their orders were clear. None could be allowed to know. Even if everyone did. Because the truth was so terrible it would rock the very foundations of their society if anyone had the courage to speak it aloud. So, they whispered, and they whispered this: The queen is dead, slain by her young daughter. A witch. An abomination that called down fire from the sky.
Even now, if one was particularly brave, you could see the damage. The blackened and collapsed western wall of the Azure Palace, standing high atop its artificial hill and screaming what happened without words. Nobody could know. Everyone knew. The truth was written in ash and blood, reflected on each and every face. Citizen or slave.
It was a terrible thing, and within the ash covered walls of the blue palace itself, a decision had to be made on what to do about it.
Magical light reflected off the worn face of the Royal Steward, and as he spoke the deep lines of his face shifted and cast shadows of their own, “My king I feel for you, you must know this. I have known you since you were a boy. The pain you experience now is unbearable, maddening, I understand, but you cannot take out your grief on your daughter. This, this tragedy, was not something she meant.”
“Yefe,” The King of Ketrefa, a handsome man whose young features were darkened by rage, smoldered from atop his gilded throne, “Do not speak to me like I am a boy! Old fool, a twisted thing like my so called daughter, cursed in the womb, intends nothing. It just destroys. I want the abomination dead, before the sun sets.”
“There are ways!” Yefe pleaded, “I have heard of witches growing into their power, learning to control it. Traders from the south have brought us stories, we can look to them for guidance. She need not be a danger.”
In one motion the King stood from his august seat and smacked his old teacher across the face, sending the elderly man to the ground with a cry. Looming above him the King of Ketrefa, rightful Sovereign of all Mankind, spat darkly, “She will not be.”
The king drew a gilded bronze dagger from a sheath at his waist and stalked towards the throne room's entrance, wicked intent writ on a once admirable face. The noble court, those few of them who were trusted enough to have been summoned to this gathering, scattered and made way for their incensed lord. Eyes fell upon Yefe and none mustered the courage to gainsay their ruler. All but one held their tongues.
A young man wearing a shirt of bronze mail stepped into the king's path and spoke without invitation, staring nervously at his rulers feet, “My lord it should not be by your hand. She is of impure blood. A monster.”
The audacity of his servant struck the King like a blow, and he halted at once. Eyes burning with indignation, grief, and hatred bored into the man obstructing King of Ketrefa’s path. Amurat the third, sole living child of a dead king who bore the same name, came within a hair's breadth of shedding the blood of a member of his court. Only recognition of the man before him held the King's blade at bay.
“Move aside, Trehe,” Amurat uttered the name like it was a curse, “That you are not dead is only due to the closeness of our families. I will forget this one treachery, for the sake of my wife. Your sister. But only if you move aside.”
“I cannot,” Trehe uttered the words, voice shaking as if he did not believe them himself, “You are my King, and I will not allow you to dirty your hands. I ask you to use mine. The blood of a monster will not taint a lesser man like me. The Queen is dead. I beg you, brother, allow me to avenge her.”
Silence overtook the court. Neither man nor nature moved, and for a moment it was as if time itself had stalled. Slowly, wordlessly, a drawn blade found itself scraping against its sheath. The King scowled, nodded, and turned away before speaking, “Then see it done, and know that when it is we will be brothers no longer. Do away with the filth that binds us.”
Trehe blinked, straightened to look at the King’s back, and muttered, “I will.”
He fled the throne room, and all that could do so joined him. Only one remained. Amurat’s eyes fell on Yefe, his eldest advisor and stalwart friend, now cradling his bruised cheek and leaning against a nearby pillar. The King spoke and his words could have chilled bone, “I repudiate you, Yefe. Never enter my presence again. I will not be merciful twice.”
Yefe gazed into the eyes of a boy he’d helped raise, looking for the man he admired, who could be turned away from the awful path he’d stepped onto.
The old man recognized nothing.
As the sun crept towards the horizon two harnessed Quillat’s led a wagon out through the western gate of Ketrefa. It passed in silence, without challenge. Sitting in it was Trehe, the youngest man to ever be made Captain of the Gates, and a cadre of his closest men. Across from them, blindfolded, gagged, beaten, and chained was a young girl. Barely older than three.
Trehe’s niece. She had not moved since she was loaded into the wagon, and Trehe held back tears as he beheld the reason. Her legs, while not broken, were beaten black and blue. Her naked feet were reddened and bloody. The only sign she was alive was her roughspun tunic heaving with her shallow breaths.
Nobody spoke. There were no words to speak. The wagon led Trehe and his men to the foothills and the dark forests therein. They knew their duty, their terrible task. None wanted it, but all felt the weight of responsibility. The necessity. Each was armed, and as they regarded their weapons there wasn’t a one who wondered if that weight was enough. For before them was no monster.
Just a girl.
A girl that, for all the abuse she’d endured, made not a sound until the wagon stopped at the edge of the wood. Even then, she only whined through her gag as the wagon rocked and aggravated her injuries. Such was her terror.
The men that had accompanied Trehe looked at him, some opened their mouths to speak, but they could not. Not if they couldn’t meet his eyes. They tried, surely, but in the end none had the strength. Trehe stood alone as he lifted the frail girl out of the wagon and led her into the wood.
He held her carefully, caringly, and walked past the trees. Past the thick undergrowth that scratched at his face. Only when he was deep in the forest and the light had all but died did he stop. The girl was laid on the ground, the man knelt, and a blade was drawn.
She must have heard it, for despite the agony of the action she tensed. Just a girl. A baby. Three years old. Trehe thought of his sister, of the King’s fury. He spoke softly, sharing the words with a little girl he’d loved as if she were his own, “It would be a mercy, Qashat. Look what they’ve done to you. It... It would be better.”
She stirred at the voice, recognizing the man who’d brought her here, and she squirmed. It was too much. The blade clattered to the ground, and Trehe began to weep. He pulled the gag from his nieces mouth, undid her chains, and lifted the girls blindfold. She had her mother's eyes. Blue like the great river in spring. She stared at her uncle as he cried, and that she didn’t do the same made him weep more.
“I can do nothing for you,” He choked on the words, “Nothing. I can’t even free you from the torment they’ve put you through."
She stared at him, and her voice came out in a pained whisper, “W- Why?”
It was a question too great for a child to ask, let alone understand the answer to. It was a question too great for Trehe, for though he was a man he’d barely passed his twenty second year. He closed his eyes and bitter words escaped his lips, ”Because you’re different. Because you can do things. Because... Because you killed her."
Her eyes, her mother's eyes, stared back at him with all the pain in the world. The Captain stood, and a single hope filled his chest, “But it wasn’t your fault. You can’t be blamed for it, for being born. I am an excuse of a man for being unable to say that when it mattered. I’m so sorry.”
He turned, and spoke the last words the young witch would hear for years, “Live, Qashat. Please. Live.”
The girl’s uncle bloodied his knife on his own arm, tied the injury with a rag, and fled. Then, she was alone. Injured, unable to walk, betrayed and left to die with a worthless wish. Qashat, heir to the throne of Ketrefa, once a princess who would rule the greatest city in the world, finally cried.
As her tears streamed down her face the bruises on her body faded, cuts mended, and her strength returned. She didn’t understand it. How could she? All she knew was that she was alone.
The man who’d been her uncle would not return.
Ketrefa, the great city of the Highlands, is in shock. The Queen is dead, and rumor has spread far and wide that she is dead by the power of her three year old daughter. It can only be that the King sired a witch. In the palace the truth of this is known, but only Yefe, advisor to the King and his father before him, is willing to speak on the girl's behalf. The old man is beaten for it, and the King resolves to kill his Abomination offspring himself. He’s stopped by his brother in law, Trehe, Captain of the Gates. Trehe tells the King that he cannot sully his hands and reign with impure blood, and begs the king to allow him to avenge his sister. The king accepts.
Trehe leads a party to kill the girl. They bring her, beaten as she was by the palace guards, to the forest outside the city. The others with Trehe can’t bring themselves to hurt her, and so he leads her into the woods alone. He prepares to kill her, but can’t do it. So, even knowing it would be kinder for her to die, he unbinds her and leaves her in the woods. When he is gone the girl, Qashat, is healed by her power.
Tekret et Heret, the God of Rulership and Contracts, a divine being whose intervention had changed the course of fate and bent the rails of destiny innumerable times, was deeply upset. What could upset such a being? How could the immortal warden of order and steward of civilization become so agitated?
The answer was simple. His vacation was ruined. Worse, his vacation had been ruined by a gaggle of his, as he now realized, incredibly lazy siblings. The portal opening on his beach had been unfortunate, but it wasn’t the death stroke. It’d derailed his vacation, but, as Tekret now understood, it had been a surmountable problem. An annoying one, yes, but nothing compared to the realization that he was in the minority that had done literally anything of consequence for the last two thousand years. That had been devastating, really.
Deep, deep in his divine soul Tekret wished to turn back time. To look Illyd in the face, turn around, and bury the portal in a mountain of sand. Oh the God of Unsolicited Apples and other Foods had been nice, if a bit parochial, but would Tekret have sacrificed the meeting, the pie, for his vacation? Yes. Absolutely.
Alas, not even gods had that power. Tekret was damned to live in the present, a present where he’d given into despair and rage too early. A present where the unimaginable indolence and stupidity of his fellow divines had been presented to him in as clear terms as could even be imagined. It... Sucked.
Two thousand years of work, of managing a world that seemed to be falling apart at every moment, and Tekret was rewarded by his planned century off being cut short by ninety seven years. The god wanted to cry, a little. He also wanted to scream, both at himself and his siblings. As it was, he had done a lot of screaming. The crying, well, that bit could wait.
With a heavy sigh Tekret looked around and, in the absence of a better idea, decided he might as well catch up with the rest of his family. Not that he was overfond of them at the moment. However, when your parent is an unthinking mass of creative energy devoid of limits and with a known inclination to send its children on time outs, well it pays to take the time you’re given.
“Alright then,” Tekret pursed his lips and glanced around as he spoke to himself, “May as well start with Cadien. Humans still worship him, so he might have done something interesting in the last two thousand years.”
Just then, Cadien landed directly in front of him. “Did I hear someone mention my name?” the God of Perfection asked.
“What the-'' Tekret flinched and glared at the other god, who was frankly almost as naked as he was, “Watch it with the jumping! Honestly. Have you even heard of walking?”
“Obviously I have,” Cadien shrugged and rolled his eyes dismissively. “This is just faster. Anyhow, were you looking for me?”
“Well, yes,” The alabaster god sputtered, “I just wasn’t expecting you to come flying at me like a damn arrow. Ugh. Fine, ok, Cadien! God of Perfection! Worshipped by Humans across the world.” Tekret exhaled and, slumping ever so slightly, managed to ask, “How... Are you?”
“Quite good,” Cadien said with a nod. “Though I have to say, I’m a bit surprised you know my name. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“No,” Tekret agreed, “But the Humans still seem to like you, and I’ve been busy enough with them for the last two thousand years to know what you’re about. Or, well, at least what they think you’re about. You are a bit... Smaller than they depict.”
“Well, I’d hope they still like me. I did have a hand in giving them such complex thoughts and feelings in the first place. I also played a role in creating the Goblins and the Merelli. As to my height… eh. Didn’t really want to tower too much over other gods and mortals. And after the Separation, there wasn’t much reason to change it, was there?”
“If you weren’t reaching for things there wasn't,” Tekret muttered bitterly before changing tack with an obvious cough and explaining, “But really, you have to wonder where they ever got the idea you were fifteen feet tall with muscles bigger than horses then. That mosaic in Ketrefa really is... Something.”
“Now, whyever would you need to reach for things?” Cadien asked curiously. “Can you not jump, or fly?”
“Obviously,” Tekret sighed, “But after getting distracted and flying through walls enough times you learn your lesson. Sometimes just reaching for the damn thing is enough. No need to strut. Not like there’s anyone to admire it.”
“Hmm. Is everything alright? You seem quite on edge.”
An ember flared in Tekret’s chest, and was smothered just as quickly. His vacation was dead, suffocated in the crib. With a resigned tone he explained, “No, everything's not alright. Not at all. I spend two thousand years working without so much as a minute of rest, and just when I finally think things are in a state where I can take a measly century off a damn portal opens on my beach and I find out that the entire pantheon spent their time throwing a hissy fit try to get out of their realms or taking naps.”
“Have you spoken to the entire pantheon already?” Cadien asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Do I really need to?” Tekret complained, “You’d think after two milleniums of watching countless mortals, keeping tabs on every ruler to ever be born, I’d hear something about what the others were up to. Oh sure there were mutters about a few here and there. The Humans still like you, after all, but others? I haven’t heard a peep about Fe’ris, that ridiculous bat, in millenium! God of Ambition. Ambition. I bet his ambition was to sit on some gaudy chair and do nothing!”
“Alright, stop.” Cadien held his hands out as if he was prepared to stop a rolling boulder. “Are you familiar with every mortal race? I highly doubt that. And have you considered it possible that some gods might not have very many worshipers, perhaps because they didn’t make their presence known, or perhaps because their influence is more subtle? And have you considered that some didn’t exactly take the Separation in stride? Hmm? So mayhaps it would be better to speak with the other gods and find out why you know so little about them, instead of making such baseless assumptions?”
“Am I familiar with every- Are you not?” Tekret stared blankly at Cadien, “We’ve had two thousand years man. Even if you don’t hear every damn agreement they make. Two. Thousand. Years.” The alabaster god pinched the bridge of his nose, and spoke with an uncharacteristic levelness, “What... Precisely have you been doing these last few millenium, Cadien?”
“Sitting on a gaudy chair, of course,” Cadien said. “Also responding to prayers. And delivering the occasional blessing. Worked on my realm a lot too. Didn’t quite feel like two millennia to me, though. I think time passed faster for me, or something. Anyhow, I stand by what I said. There’s no need for such assumptions.”
Gears, seized by sheer incredulity at the situation before him, began to turn in Tekret’s head. Gaudy chair. Occasional blessing. Time passing faster. The horrible conclusion was inevitable, unavoidable, inescapable. Cadien, God of Perfection, Scion of Mankind, had been occasionally dozing off and waking up to a prayer or two for millenia. Tekret added it to his list of things to cry about, later, and answered haltingly, “Fine. Fine. Maybe at least some were working. I shouldn’t assume. Right. Sure.”
“Good,” Cadien nodded sternly. “And in the future, do try to take more regular breaks. Instead of one century of rest after two-thousand of years of work, perhaps try one year of rest after twenty years of work. Otherwise you’ll just burn yourself out, and end up… well, the way you are now, which will do even more damage to your productivity. Nobody made you work that long, so please, don’t get so angry at others because they didn’t hold themselves to standards they weren’t even aware of.”
“They’re not my standards,” Tekret miserably answered the God of Laziness and Unhelpful Platitudes, “There’s just work. It has to be done. It’s that, It’s just that simple.”
But, the God thought. But.
“But you might be right about... Breaks. Obviously not every twenty years, but I understand the exaggeration. Maybe I can just, just take my vacation in bits. Every so often,” Tekret's posture relaxed a bit and he nodded, “Alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to the others. See what they were up to. Maybe I’ve just been listening to the mortals too long. Some real company couldn’t hurt. Anyone that doesn’t kick it after tripping would be good to talk to. Yeah, yeah.”
“Excellent!” Cadien suddenly smiled again, clapping a hand on Tekret’s shoulder. “If you ever need some company, or a change of scenery, then feel free to visit my realm. Oh, and I do have an idea that might be able to take a bit of the workload off your shoulders, so keep an ear out for that.”
That pulled Tekret out of it, perhaps more than anything the God of Perfection has said so far. A way to ease his workload? That... Tekret suppressed his embarrassment before it ever reached his face. He hadn’t thought of that. He’d just been so busy, right from the start. Was that the benefit of napping for who knows how long? Had Cadien done it for a reason?
With renewed vigour Tekret nodded, “I will. Eagerly.”
With one final nod of farewell, Cadien, turned away, and leapt. No doubt heading toward another unsuspecting target.
“Yeah,” Tekret muttered as he watched him go, "He’s definitely never heard of walking."
Tekkie is UPSETTI SPAGHETTI. The vacation is ruined. The other gods are nincompoops. He just wanted to go back. Back to the vacation. Back before all this happened.
But there’s no god of time, and Tekkie knows that the lifeblood is a dick who might seal the gods off from each other again at any time. Yeah, Tekkie made that connection. Big daddy lifeblood ruined his vacation. Anyway knowing his siblings, useless or not, are still his siblings Tekkie resolves to talk to them.
He thinks of Cadien, because Tekkie still likes Humanity. Cadien fucking yeets himself into Tekki’s personal space at the mere mention of his name and freaks Tekkie out, rude. Anyway they talk and Tekret is like my vacation is ruined the other gods are idiots and Cadien is like, your vacation isn't dead you just need to take more regular breaks. Also Cadien says the other gods aren't idiots and Tekkie should talk to them.
Tekkie accepts the break idea, but is dubious about the other gods competence. He also concludes that Cadien was probably napping for a few centuries, or more, between the occasional burst of usefulness. Nevertheless Cadien kinda talks Tekkie down a bit and they end on a good note. Mostly. Oh and Cadien tells Tekkie that he has an idea on easing the gods workload. THAT gets Tekkie’s attention and potential respect.
Cadien leaps away again, and Tekkie really struggles to keep that respect in place. Learn to walk, dude.
Squinting, Illyd Dyll continued his wobbling walk away from Cadien and the Bat-God, eyes fixated on a particular rip through reality. He couldn’t see much through it, perhaps a beach? Then all of a sudden a tall, entirely naked, man with alabaster skin and hair jumped out of the rip, angrily barking about someone ruining his rest and threatening to beat them senseless.
Illyd’s eyes widened as he flinched backwards, holding up a single apple in defense of himself, “Woah! Hold on, now!”
The naked man pointed at Illyd and continued his tirade, “Was it you! You... God of....”
“Something?” The porcelain man paused and scratched his head, righteous fury fading as he struggled to remember the god in front of him, “Wait who are you?”
“I’m Illyd Dyll,” Illyd cleared his throat clear of his initial fright. He took a moment to observe the angered man and decided on the next course of action with a polite yet small and sheepish smile, “What’s wrong?”
The naked statue of a man stared at Illyd for a second, and wordlessly held out a hand in confusion before, emphatically, gesturing to the portal behind him and shouting again, “What’s wr-? That! That’s wrong! I spend two thousand years doing my damn job, not one break, not even for a single stupid minute, and then, then I take a vacation.”
He paused and exhaled, before bellowing and all gesturing wildly, “And one of my idiot siblings goes and does that. I. Am. On. Vacation. You don’t just kick down a man’s door without asking! It’s not right!”
“I don’t know about any of that,” Illyd Dyll gave a curt nod, “But seems to me that you owe it to yourself AND your vacation that you go on and get back to it!” He nodded again, and pushed the apple forward, “How ‘bout a lil snack, a lil nibble, and you go right back to your business. Don’t ye worry about the lil hole; I’ll put up some stones.”
“No,” The man huffed, “No it’s ruined. It’s ruined and someone ruined it and when I find out who oh you better believe they’ll be getting what's coming.”
The god took a few deep breaths, and then kept doing that for a frankly inappropriate amount of time, long enough for Illyd Dyll to swap out his apple for his harp -- an idle pluck here and there while he waited. When the man finally seemed to have calmed down he sighed and held out a hand, “I’m Tekret Et Heret, God of Rulership, Contracts, and the livin- No not that. Just the first two. Damn, it’s been a while since I spoke to another god. Can’t believe I used to introduce myself like that. Pretentious.”
Illyd plopped an apple right into the waiting palm, “Yer hungry, I can tell. I get a little whippish when my stomach rumbles, too. But as I said before: I’m Illyd Dyll, nice to meet you friend.”
Tekret stared at the apple, at Illyd, and then shrugged and took a bite. After a moment savouring the fruit he noted, “That’s pretty good. Don’t think I ever ate when I was down there. Or up here. Actually I don’t think I’ve ever eaten. Huh. So, Illyd Dyll, what are you the God of?”
“Now see, that’s the interesting thing,” Illyd Dyll plucked at his harp, “Ye saying yer the God of Rulerships and Contracts -- but so am I, ain’t that wild?”
“Yes,” Tekret deadpanned while rolling his eyes, “Wild.”
Illyd Dyll accompanied Tekret with a warm chuckle -- as if he was sharing it with the god, “I’m jus’ pullin’ yer leg. Thought a little joke might clear the mood around here.”
Tekret seemed to deflate, a little, “Sorry, sorry. It’s been... A while. Actually I don’t think anyone has ever told me a joke. Told myself a few, though. Can’t say they were much better than that.”
The naked god glanced at the other portals and asked, “You been through any of those yet? See what the others have been up to for the last few thousand years?”
“If I’m bein’ honest,” Iylld Dyll plucked at his harp in thought, “I didn’t even realize that much time had passed; it’s no short of a wonder or a credit to your intellect that you managed to count that long -- but to answer your question: I’m jus’ along for the ride, recently stepped here myself.” He got lost in a few notes before suddenly brightening, “Oh but ye know what? I did meet a great guy named Cadien, he should still be here -- even. Right over yonder.” Illyd jabbed a thumb behind himself.
“You didn’t realize?” Tekret narrowed his eyes, “You don’t mean to say I was the only one actually working, for the last two millenium? Do you? That can’t be what you’re implying, Illyd. I mean look at you, god of unsolicited apples, people probably needed those. Right?”
A pained expression took hold of the marbleesque god’s face, “And Cadien, God of Perfection! The Humans obviously would have needed him too, he had to have been swamped. Just swamped. Had to be.”
“Now now,” Illyd Dyll slung his harp back over his shoulder and raised his palms, “I can’t rightfully speak for anyone but myself. As far as myself, though, all I remember is a pleasant plucking or two, a nibble there and a bite here -- and one fantastic nap under the sun. Ever have a pumpkin?”
“A... Pumpkin?” Tekret looked positively despondent, and wistfully looked back into his portal at his beach, “No I uh, I don’t think I have.”
“Oh boy, you gotta try one, you have to!” Illyd Dyll looked around ,”No vines here tho- oh!” As if willed -- which it was -- a massive green vine suddenly pushed out of the stone floor and curled around the two. In a span of seconds it matured, thick orange pumpkins bursting out of their buds -- full and ripe. “Well now would you look at that!”
A chalk white hand reached out and, struggling to actually grasp the sizable pumpkin, just scooped a handful out of it like it was butter. Tekret took the chunk and bit into it, rind and all. After a moment of concentrated chewing he swallowed and commented uncertainly, “Maybe, uhm, stick to the apples.”
“Yer eatin’ it all wrong, friend!” Illyd Dyll shook his head and snagged a pumpkin from the vine. He tossed the pumpkin in the air where it floated obediently and instructed, “Ye gotta give it a little zap-a-doo and some razzmatazz, or it’s gonna be all chunky and bitter. Do it right and ye got one of the thirty seven spices of life. Watch see.”
The god stuck his tongue between his teeth in concentration and then with a quick crunch and a soft sizzle, the pumpkin squished into a warm paste. Illyd scratched his chin, and long sugary canes popped out next to the vine, shedding a white powder and bombarding the mush. Illyd Dyll snapped, “I jus’ had an idea!” Next thing the two gods knew, a flash of golden wheat was growing alongside the rest, its plentiful grains whisking around the paste until with a flash of light a wholesome pie remained.
Illyd Dyll nodded twice, “Enough for sharin’ too.”
Tekret’s white eyes skipped between the pie and Illyd, and he let out a half hearted chuckle, “God of Food then? Well, if you’re going to share I’ll try it. If I can’t have my vacation at least I can discover food.”
“Grab a slice, friend!” Illyd Dyll smiled warmly, the pie splitting into two and floating to each.
The God of Contracts grabbed his and took a bite, freezing as he did so. He savoured the taste, and then devoured the rest of the slice in short order. A small smile crept its way onto his lips and he thanked the other divine, “I can’t say you’re bad at what you do, Illyd. Thank you. I... May have needed this.”
“D’aw, well think nothing of it,” Illyd’s slice was already gone, his fingers already back to work on his crooked harp, “Hey, ye see any trees around here? I gotta set up my hammock.”
“Trees?” Tekret asked incredulously, as he looked around at the barren arena they stood in, “I... Haven’t seen any trees.”
He bit his lip and eyed Illyd for a moment before shrugging and pointing behind him with his thumb, “There’s a few palms on my beach, though. I think I might linger here a moment, see if the others have ah, been doing something for the last while. Anything, really. But you can use my trees, if you want to.”
Illyd Dyll narrowed his eyes, his smile growing cheshire, ”Are ye invitin’ me over to yer place?” The arguably shorter god burst with energy and slapped his bag back over his shoulder, ”You sneaky beetle, I think that’s a wonderful idea!”
Tekret pursed his lips, but nodded, “Just, please, stay on the beach. I’ll be back before long.”
”I’ll wait around here until you wanna come, feels weird going in alone,” Illyd Dyll dropped his bag again, ”Probably just string the hammock here on... something ‘nd we’ll cross paths on yer way back in. Easy peasy.”
The naked man nodded, and then glanced at the arrayed portals before adding, “Sure. Now I just need to find out who...”
A small fire lit in the gods eyes as he strode off, once again muttering about his vacation. Now, though, he was also occasionally rambling to himself about pie. An improvement, on the whole.
So we follow Illyd Dyll on his curious quest where he finds Tekret, God of nudity and yelling at people. Illyd calms him down and they have a rather slow and pointless chat but Illyd thought it was nice -- then Tekret invites him over ( after learning that he can bake ) but they both mutually decide to stay in Antiquity for now. That’s totally how it happened. The end.
Lord Zee
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