Divinity (IC/Sandbox/Open)

[The Pearl River]

Chapter One: Freedom

OOC|Discord

The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.
-Howard Phillips Lovecraft

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The celestial realm, once one of the most gorgeous places in existence now reduced to a pile of rubble and mana. The elder gods have left the domain a shell of it’s former self, now just miles and miles of empty void rich in mana, the primordial essence of the gods. Upon the miles and miles of nothingness lies a large hole, which reeks of rotting meat, and suddenly a deep bellowing growl disturbed the peace of the realm, followed by several sounds of scratching and digging. The digging sounds became louder and louder before the source of the sound revealed itself.

A large humanoid figure crawled out from the hole, it’s appearance resembled that of a flayed man with fresh blood oozing out of it’s pores, staining the hole with a dark shade of red. As it clawed itself out of it’s subterranean prison it let out a blood curdling scream not from it’s mouth, but from deep within it’s torso, where it’s meat and ribs moved like a human mouth it roamed across the celestial plains crawling slowly, the only obstacle is it’s painful hunger but not for long. It sees a carcass of a dead elder god, it’s skin already peeling off and it’s meat rotting. Without any hesitation it digs into the carcass with his sharp crimson claws and stuffs his abdominal cavity with the content of the rotting corpse.

After indulging himself with the rotting meat and mana that replenished his energy, the figure roamed the empty realm searching for the old gods, specifically the ones who imprisoned him in that god-awful hole in the ground. As he wandered the realm, he came across the edge of the divine realm where the realm of the mortals lie, he watched as the scorched land was what’s left of the old world. “How long have i been out” he said to himself, he stayed near the edge looking at was once was his proud creations wandered the land like how he did now.

Looking away from the barren rock that was once the mortal realm, the realisation on how long he was imprisoned suddenly sinks in. He looks back on the celestial realm and found it as a battlefield with mana and the armour of other gods he recognised. His first priority is to possibly find some surviving god/godess who could tell him what has happened in the celestial realm since his absence. Drips of yellow pus comes out of his eyes as he finds out he may be truly alone in this realm, with nobody else to keep him company. This is not freedom to him, this is just a larger prison fate has given him.

[Trenaka]

In the ruined battlefield that was the celestial realm, the mana of the dead god of strategy began to glow. The mana began swirling, forming a shape, and heating. When the mana glowed white-hot, there was a bright flash of light, and a loud bang as Grenuk, the new god of strategic war, rose from the scorched ground.

When the light died down, Grenuk stood on his serpent tail, confused. He wondered why he was created in such a wasteland, and how. He put on the dead god’s armor. Grenuk began to wander, searching for others to tell him what has happened. Along the way, he consumed additional mana to grow his strength, and eventually saw a strange red figure on the horizon. He slithered over to the figure.

“Who are you?” Grenuk asked.

[Danubian Peoples]

Death.

All there was, was death.

The deceased stretched on, seemingly without end, as the remains of an old order found themselves half-buried throughout a blasted landscape. Some bore mighty weapons that could shatter even the hardest stone, whilst others bore equally powerful tusks and fangs from every corner of the animal kingdom. Regardless of their might, they had all fallen. Some of the cadavers only had half a face to die with, the other half reduced to nothingness, perhaps consumed by a ravenous foe or immolated by fire divine. Others were nothing but a mess of bones poking and prodding out of a vaguely defined mass of decaying flesh, appendages of all sorts no longer distinguishable. Still others left nothing behind, their whole being practically annihilated, save only for scraps painted onto rocks.

And then there was it.

First to emerge into the fading light was a hand, three digits, each tipped with a black claw. It's color was blue, though the claws themselves were a brownish black. Then the rest of the thing emerged. The thing was a tentacular form, some strange cross between a man and a cephalopod. It emerged into the blasted ruins of the celestial realm, crawling out of a cavity in the earth. The being carried itself onto the surface, making powerful motions as it dragged itself to ground level. And then it began, to float. The now evidently divine being lifting itself up, its tentacles dangling, seemingly trying and failing to grab the ground below.

The being is called, Mandeso.

Mandeso stood erect. Their form was evidently large, perhaps even titanic, though with no life of any sort around, no eyes were privy to judge that. Mandeso cotinued to wander the celestial realm, abosorbing the ambient mana, the divine energies left behind by the deities of old. The deity soaked up the essence like a sponge, its inhuman maw lined with tentacles, barely so much as flinching as the being absorbed the primordial power. Mandeso continued its lonely procession, 'til it arrived, somewhere.

Mandeso found itself staring down the remains of, something. Mandeso's primordial prowess allowed them to gauge the being's status in life, for in death, it was nothing but a few scant markings on the ground and some fragile bones. Using its divine magics, and knowledge learned as it absorbed the mana around it, Mandeso discerned the deity's nature.

"A sea god." beseeched Mandeso. "Once master of the salty waters below, but now nigh-impossible to discern from the rubble of this realm. Wothy of pity, just like all else in this blasted realm." Mandeso let one monstrous hand touch the remains. Their cider-yellow eyes momentarily glew, each one broadcasting a light that briefly pierced the fog of death that hung close to the ground as Mandeso absorbed this deity's mana. Their eyes quickly returned to their previous inert state, and the deity once again found themselves staring down the remains of that dead ocean god. "Worthy of pity, but also.. a legacy."

Mandeso returned to roaming the landscape, before finding yet another presence. This time, it had a heart, still pounding. No, it had, several, each one pulsating in a sick cacophony of random beats, each one suspended in an odd part of the body. Mandeso neared the presence, evidently divine, as it moved closer and closer, more of the being's strangeness made itself apparent. A naked skull topped with two antlers. Slender forelimbs bearing only bones and sinew. A gaping hole in its center. Cloven hooves for feet. Mandeso made contact.

Mandeso found the flesh god in panic. "Greetings, I am Mandeso. You. You are Palagkara, the Worker of Flesh. One of the old ones. One that survived. And to my knowledge..the only one."

[The Order of the Sovereign Heavens]

Something wise, it thought.

The force of will had congealed itself into the beginnings of a deity. It floated around in its own little void, timeless, spaceless, not yet a full being. In the wake of the great cataclysm that had befallen the Old Gods, surely many new ones would rise. The world thereafter needed wisdom, it was true. It needed tending to, the people of that world needing guidance and protection in this time. They would need a deity to teach them, to be merciful to them, and to patiently await their first steps onward, advancing into the future.

Something patient, it continued.

The world before became more blurred as this formation of a new deity, this deiogenesis, took effect. The lessons of the past growing fainter, the knowledge gained becoming lost. So much experience, so much greatness, so many things to learn... All growing fainter. The thought saddened this newly forming deity. All these things would be lost forever, and the cycle would continue. There had been moments of grandeur in that history, of great heights and soaring ambitions. Was this something to bring into this new world? No. Great ambition leads to even greater conflict. Conflict is the killer of mortals and deities alike. For with every great moment brought by ambition, a great many dark moments had been brought also.

What about beauty? Beauty was what inspired so many deities and mortals alike. Beauty was something of a self-fulfilling prophecy - the pursuit thereof often brought about yet more beauty. But alas, the pursuit of beauty often created problems of its own. The pursuit of beauty often begat the pursuit of purity. It often caused more conflicts. No, conflict was unacceptable.

Think, think, think... The being pondered, the darkening veil closing over the world before. Was this it? Was this world destined to relive the failures of the one before? Would the gods of this world soon die off, and the cycle set to yet again continue? Was conflict so unavoidable that not even this new being could avert it?

That was it. The thing that the world before sorely needed. The thing that all need. The thing which, if given widely enough, could never cause conflict. Something so ubiquitous that many mortals and deities thought of it only rarely, but something so powerful that it might just stop the conflicts of the world before from happening again. The being made one final thought before the final stages of its deiogenesis occurred:

And something kind.

---

The being awoke. The foggy memories of the world before had all but disappeared. In their place, a dull ache. That ache sharpened and spread, across the whole body. She felt the rocky ground beneath her. No, not rocks. Bones. The remains of the dead. With great effort, she sat up and looked around. The sight pained her. Such wanton destruction, such chaos. She knew that her one aim in her deified life must be to prevent this from ever happening again. However, she assumed that she must have already thought of that. That had to have been why she was here. That must have been her own purpose. The being struggled further to stand, the ache pulsing around her form. Such frailty, such agony... Was this what she was doomed to for her deity-life evermore?

Standing, pain across her whole form, she hobbled over to a nearby tree. Grabbing it by trunk and branch, she ripped it from the ground with a grunt of sudden pain. As it was uprooted, it lengthened, knotted itself into the shape of a staff. She leant onto it, with it taking her weight well. Finally, she was able to pause and observe.

Firstly, her hands. They were wrinkled, darkened from age. Moving to a patch of water, using her staff to help her walk, she gazed into it. What stared back was the face of an old crone, with wizened features and frail form. She sighed. Not a sigh of disappointment, or of sadness. Merely one of acceptance. It did not do to dwell on what was unchangeable. If she was to be an old crone, then that was how it must be.

Then she looked out over the landscape. The manifold bodies of deities gone by. Now all dead. A tear left her eye and travelled to her cheek, and there it joined the watery pond below, creating ripples on its surface. She mourned the deities, of course, and she mourned the state that the world must be in because of it, but she also mourned the loss of so many lessons, of so much knowledge. None must ever be lost again. Finding yet another small tree, she hobbled over to it and spun her hands. The tree became reams of paper, scrolls, anything with which she could record the future history of this realm. Then, from the ground, she plucked a bone from a dead god, and fashioned it into a basic writing implement. Then, with a pool of blood on the ground, she began to write. Anything she could remember of the world, and the state of it thus far. But after writing a short while, the gaps in her knowledge became ever so apparent. She must find out if others remained. Surely, if she was in deity-form, then others must be too.

Gazing out onto the horizon, she noticed a small collection of figures. With a pack of her new parchments and scrolls upon her back, she set off slowly toward them, her staff on the ground creating a soft sound as she moved onward. She would wait for the others to conclude. Patience, of course, was a virtue she valued greatly, and the patience to listen to others was one that would serve her well, she was sure.