Godhood XIV - Usurper [Jam Edition Turn 4]

Alakim shrugs, eyes only briefly darting up from his work to look at Borlung. "I can't imagine more empathy making the little bastards worse at this whole thing. Go on ahead."

Pacian looked upon Trovat, and sighed. The cavern-dwellers there had taken him up to be some undesirable horror, as was clearly the intention of Alakim. At least they were finally starting to develop. What really irked him were the nomads - they held him to be a harmless trickster, giving him none of the recognition a king deserved. Not just a king, a god. It was terrible insolence. Still, to punish them for it would be to evoke the ire of the other gods, and this universe was hard enough on those who lived in it already. Pacian did not desire a divine conflict.

Zemina was developing well, but slowly. A few nudges in the right direction, however, ought to get them moving towards a more productive path. Pacian was vital there; no other god that had so far expressed more than a passing interest in Zemina, so it was up to him to ensure things kept developing prosperously. He needed to stay focused.

Still, some mortal recognition from Trovat would be good.

Pacian drifted, observing the worlds below.

Eventually he noticed that Alakim had spoken, and was working on the design for some kind of temple to peace. Perhaps this was a chance to make amends - bad blood in the pantheon could be harmful in the long term. He floated over, examining the nascent structure. "I see that you work on a temple design," he said, attempting to be conversational. "What is it for?"

Despite being unable to suppress a glare, Alakim decides to swallow his pride for the time being. "I intend to model it such that it cannot be traversed by a single Sirona. For example, here-" he points to a switch hidden behind a thick but transparent wall- "the path must be opened by a cave-dweller, and here-" he now draws attention to a recessed passage- "the airwater will be essentially unswimmable, but a nomad could walk along the floor to the other side. Once the temple is designed in such a way, all that needs to be done is to arrange it so that traversing it is a rite of passage for the cave-dwellers, and they'll have no choice but to cooperate with the nomads."

He scratches his chin. "Of course, that does raise the potential problem of 'conscripts', so I need to think of a way to work around that as well... preferably, one which doesn't involve simply giving the nomads superior weaponry."

Alakim shakes his head. "That would simply encourage them to believe that holy war is the best solution, would it not? 'Those ones refused to accept The Truth; we murdered them, and now they do.' What happens when there is a schism, or they make contact with other sapients?"

"You act like war among the mortals is to be avoided at all costs," said Pacian, evidently thinking. "But have you ever seen a civilization without it?" He paused, analyzing the temple. "I have participated in, even led wars. They did not destroy my race." He smiled, momentarily lost in memories. "If anything, they strengthened it." He turned back to Alakim. "Why not let them make their own choice?"

Alakim sighs, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "You are not the only one who has led wars, Pacian. I have crushed kingdoms in an afternoon. I have burnt great cities to the ground and stricken their names from history. I have eradicated entire families because their patriarch looked at me in a way I disapproved of, I have destabilized tremendous economies from the sheer volume of my pillaging, and I have seen what war - especially war for petty, ridiculous reasons like this - does to the innocents."

He refuses to even face Pacian, continues to absent-mindedly make small modifications to the design of the temple. "Years I spent without thinking twice about it. Even after I was enlightened, it took me years more to fully realize the depths of what I had done; and even now, I find myself worrying that the slightest misstep, the tiniest war, will spiral out of control. Perhaps I'm overcompensating; inevitably, yes, war will happen, and inevitably I will see no option but to aid one side or another. To sow destruction once more. But until such day as that war is inevitable, I will not do so."

The Ever-Lost takes a deep breath, shaking his head. "Perhaps you should re-evaluate who is made stronger by war, and what strengths they gain. Somehow, you don't strike me as a man who sweats the details as much as he possibly should..." He glances over at Macian briefly. "And yes, I recognize the irony that I should be the one to say so."

Pacian shook his head. "You are, of course, entitled to do whatever you want." He turned back to regard the planet. "Far be it from me to command another God."

Swiftly, he turned back to face Alakim. "But if war is so terrible, let the mortals realize it. I was not made strong by blindly killing, as you seem to imply. I learned how to apply war, where and when it is appropriate, how to use it like any other political tool. It is just another facet of intelligent life." His mouth twitched once more. "In any case, I will not lecture you further."

Renewed and reinvigorated, Chamenos ignores everybody once more and looks at Gakba. "Wouldn't mind seeing something able to live on the planet," the young one mutters. Though there was the matter of the cyclical moon collision. That would probably make life hard on the surface.

Instead, Chamenos carves out a rather large cave system throughout Gakba, then adds an atmosphere to it with a water cycle and everything. (3 acts)

That could maybe be a start. Perhaps.

"What's wrong with war?" Dalibora quite suddenly asked the vagabond. "It's not as if the mortals don't have a place to go when they're killed in battle. As long as it doesn't escalate to, say, global thermonuclear war, it's probably going to be good for them in the long run. Maybe one day they'll get over their differences, but it's unlikely to happen immediately without you taking away their free will."

"After all," she added, "what good are mortals without free will? Babysitting them will only stunt their growth."

Alakim sighs. "I suppose, regardless, I should set the plans aside for now. Seeing as there's still work to be done on the ecosystem, and all that."

He smiles a bit. "In fact, I think I know of something that might put the cavern-dwellers in their place to a degree." With that, he produces another Sirona; but this one he makes considerably larger. Its head is streamlined; its teeth made smaller in number, but larger and sharper; its third eye removed, replaced with a small horn. Two more fins are added to the side, and the dorsal fin removed, before finally the markings (which, perhaps less-than-coincidentally, resemble the coloration of the Vedorci as much as possible without resembling the nomads too greatly) are shifted about. As a finishing touch, he reaches into its head and plucks out the secret it once held; and, twisting it around, he places it back in before releasing the new creature into the sea.

"I shall call it the Cavila. The nomads should be able to fight it off easily; they will have their own competitors to deal with, soon enough. As for the cave-dwellers, they'll find themselves robbed of the chance at a direct confrontation, but can always retreat to their home if need be." He cracks his knuckles. "Which means that the only thing remaining is to ensure that they keep seeing fit to venture forth."

The Cavila now live on Trovat (Large Animal Life [predatory], 3 Acts; Special Ability "Psychic Suppression" 1 Act)

Macian Scelle doesn't bother acknowledging Alakim's quiet humility. "I... do not think. Making one species wiser or more individual than the other. Will solve things."

"Their culture will develop faster. A culture already instilled with the value that to venerate us – To venerate me – is to brutalize the others. They will see themselves as more real, more enlightened. The nomads will become no less animals than the treebeasts they follow."

He sighs. "Or perhaps they will become piteous beasts, in need of teaching and enlightenment and ultimately subservience. Furthering their divides will only deepen their enmity or transmute it into something equally hateful."

"Meanwhile the transplanted ones are struggling to survive on a planet not ready for them, not balanced to support them. Without the resources to thrive."

He finally whirls on the assembled pantheon, impassive face suddenly furious.

"And you have the gall to shrug and ask what's so wrong with war? With famine? Does their suffering mean nothing because you created it? These are your children, and you set them aflame and you create beasts to make them fear and bleed. How dare you all?"

With an uncharacteristically artless gesture, he slams a fist into Zemina; after harmless quake, the vedorci notice that their crops have increased greatly in size and productivity; it's not a mere divine boon, but a change to the plants growth and nature. (1 act, add fertility and fecundity)

"Keep your authority and your worship and your power. Keep your playthings too, if that's what you want. But when those toys feel and die, treat them with the care and respect they deserve. The sirona and the vedorci can forget me for all I care, but I will protect and aid them as I have to, and I will oppose anyone who intends to continue inflicting capricious horror on them and any that come after them."

"You are gods. Do not become monsters."

Alakim thinks a moment, hands clasped behind his back, as he glances between Trovat and his plans for the temple. "Please do not take this for condescension; it is an honest request for aid, Macian. What, as the one the cavern-dwellers consider our leader," he asks, making certain to sound as sincere as possible, "do you suggest might be an alternate strategy to bring them back in line?" The Ever-Lost starts pacing around the planet. "I fear obvious, direct interference would do nothing to solve the problem; they'd probably write it off as some demon in disguise. There needs to be a reason for - if not cooperation - than at least a halt to hostilities."

From his corner, Chamenos struggles not to roll his eyes. "At this point, just let them work out their shit by themselves. I mean seriously, you trying to push these guys together to kiss and make up by force or manipulation ain't gonna be helpful."

The young deity pauses and scratches at his face. "Wait, that sounds kinda bad, doesn't it...I guess what I'm saying an' all...ugh, never mind." Apparently remembering just who he was talking to, Chamenos withdraws back into himself.

Pacian raises an eyebrow at Scelle. "Although I see no reason to resent your actions," he said, "Remember that a people that must put in effort to survive is not a pitiable thing. If you seek to create lives with no challenge for the universe's mortals, I do not know what you expect them to achieve. It is the same logic by which war can be construed as something other than a blind monster of destruction." He sighed. "In any case, I must go. My people could use some aid."

Returning to Zemina, Pacian drifted down to the surface and spread his arms wide. He had much to do.

Rich ores for all kinds of workable metals blister throughout Zemina. Thanks to this plus the previous mineral investments, there is now a very plentiful supply of both work metals and valuable metals on the planetoid. (-2 acts)
Pacian touches the minds of various random innovative Vedorci across the planet with knowledge. Different inventions would come to different Vedorci in flashes of inspiration, and they would create and innovate to bolster their tribes across the moon.
First, improved toolmaking. The art of using extensions of themselves to better work the land, fell trees, carve stone. (-1 act)
Second, improved architecture. The art of construction, of creating ever-greater buildings and monuments. (-1 act)
Third, stoneworking. Whether acquiring construction-grade material for the architects or carving statues, some Vedorci would realize the potential of stone as a resource. (-1 act)
Fourth, domestication. Some Vedorci would head out to find the planet's herbivorous animals and tame individuals of them, to acquire their hides and other produce. Although not all attempts would be successful, the eventual creation of domesticated farm animals would likely be a widely-spread innovation. (-1 act)
Fifth and finally, a feeling of religious fervor touched a few of the more devout Vedorci minds. They would feel inclined to formalize the belief system of their peers, and would have monuments built to honor Pacian, their deity. (-1 act)

One last thing remained. A blessing fell across the whole of Zemina, but it would only manifest in certain places - the locations of monuments built to honor Pacian. When people prayed there regularly, their ventures in life would be a bit more fruitful and fulfilling. A farmer might have more bountiful yields, an artisan might produce a masterful craft, an architect might find inspiration to design a grander and more impressive building or monument. The blessing would be a minor but noticeable effect, a sign of Pacian's patronage and protection of the Vedorci people. Really, it wasn't much more than the vaguest of bonuses, a weak potent that didn't even work every time - but it worked enough of the time to make it count.

Pacian blesses future monuments built in his name on Zemina. (-2 acts)

It seemed to Chamenos that everything he wanted to say, others could say more eloquently and also without setting things on fire in a fit of temper. The young deity shuffled embarrassedly towards Pacian (and thus, Zemina), perhaps with the intention to ask for anger management classes or something of the sort. But instead, Chamenos kept still and silent, staring intensely at Zemina.

She opted for creating life instead of breaking the silence.

The temperamental god's method of creation was certainly not very graceful. Not that he was making any mistakes, but certainly he seemed inexperienced. Because he was.

The result was middle-sized frog-like carnivores with inflatable air-sacs that allowed them to float. (2 acts) They had two long appendages that could either be used to grab prey while in the air, or walk about when on the ground. They had a rather stupid-looking face, which was apt because they were quite dumb. With no teeth, they had to swallow things whole - and sometimes they would try to swallow things that were clearly too big, or not even food at all. Chamenos secretly wanted to name them Alakim. Instead, they were called...

"...Aw, shit," said Chamanos, who lacked an ability to name things, mostly because of indecision.

The floating frogs were thus called 'Owzschit.' Despite their stupidity (or maybe because of it), they were rather cute.

Alakim raises an eyebrow at the Owzschit. "That's... actually quite an interesting design. If I may, Chamenos, I'd like to borrow that air sac concept."

Chamenos makes a low bow. "Why, thank you. Feel free to do whatever the shit you want. It's not like I own the concept, hm?"

Alakim rolls his eyes and begins forming a disembodied, similar air sac. Once he has done so, he applies a thin reddish film to it, adds a couple rudimentary organs, and finally begins layering a coral-like substance on top. After spending some time making sure the coral is sturdy, vibrantly-colored and varied in shape, he finally adds a few stinging tentacles and a mouth at an opening in the bottom.

As always, he cups the creature in his hands before unleashing many copies of it into the waters of Trovat, near a peaceful patch of algae.

The Rockgels now live on Trovat (2 acts)

"Hm... I feel as if I should add a bit more." He glances to the Pandina and nomadic Sirona; they have no competition, but he'd rather like to avoid giving them a direct predator for the moment. Instead, the ink he draws from his arm forms a slender bird with long wings, a thick beak and webbed feet; they also have high lung capacity. He gently places them beneath the airwater, where they will spend most of their lives - but when they require food, they will dart through the watersphere, plucking the fruits of the Elarti and nipping at the bamboo. He makes sure to grant them just a bit of intelligence, as well.

The Airsau now live on Trovat (Basic Animal Life, 2 acts; Intelligence, 1 Act)

"The struggle for survival is necessary, Macian Scelle. Whatever you hope to accomplish by coddling the mortals will only stunt their growth. A species cannot evolve if they face no challenges to overcome."

"Besides," Dalibora added, "it's not like their suffering is endless, unless they deserve it. Once they die, they can just be reborn, or, if they're worthy, they get eternal paradise. Not a bad deal, I'd say. Speeeaaaaking of which..."

Dalibora trailed off, blue eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Meanwhile, in the cold mountains of Zabrav, the souls of the dead felt a vast rumbling, unlike any they'd experienced in the mortal realm. In the valley between the pedestral and the mountain of reincarnation, a great fissure was torn into the plane, a mile across. From this fissure, one by one, an array of clawed tentacles erupted into the air, colors ranging from black to white and all shades of gray in between. As the perplexed mortals gazed on from a safe distance, a number of reptilian heads, each featureless save for a single, large eye, burst forth from the abyss on long necks, connected to a behemoth but mostly-unseen body.

The dead stared in simultaneous fear and wonder. The Judge had arisen. Its first act was to tear the signpost on top of the mountain to shreds. Souls who ascended the pedestal and submitted themselves to the Judge (who would give them the opportunity to reconsider) would be systematically disassembled by the claw-tentacles, each part of the soul thoroughly examined by the cycloptic head. If the soul was found to be pure enough (by the Judge's, and, by extension, Dalibora's criteria), then they would be reassembled and sent into Sthani, a plane of eternal happiness. However, if the soul was found vile, impure, the Judge would cast them into the sulfurous fields of Narakh, never to return. Those neither good enough for Sthani nor bad enough for Narakh would merely be cast into the portal of reincarnation to try again.

Thinking upon the recent discussion of war, Dalibora made sure to give the Judge proper critera for war. Those who fought boldly for their people, who neither chickened out nor resorted to senseless violence (massacring civilians, for example), would have a place in Sthani in spite of the killing inherent to war. Those who committed atrocities in wartime would be cast into Narakh.

Looking upon the gate of reincarnation, Dalibora noticed a flaw in her system. Those reincarnated as non-sapient beings were rendered soulless, as only sapient beings were initially given souls. A tragic flaw, but one easily repaired. With a beat of her wing, Dalibora ensouled all living creatures that had reincarnated from souled beings. These souls, upon death, would immediately be sent into the gate of reincarnation, a cycle that would only be broken when, by chance, the soul became a sapient being once more.

"There we go!" Dalibora exclaimed proudly. "The Plane of Souls is now fully operational, if a bit empty. We can fix that later."

"Dali... Did you forget our agreement?" Abselon glared at her contemptuously.

"Sorry!" Dalibora replied, smiling. "I just... y'know, needed to finish the place! Absey, I promise you, it's all yours next time."

"You'd better not forget that."

Dalibora has created The Judge (5 acts)
Dalibora has modified the Plane of Souls to keep the souls of those reincarnated into nonsapient beings intact, and automatically reincarnate them on death (2 acts)
Total: 7 acts