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~Culthet~
"But now there are two tunnels which somewhat diminishes the-"

Itja-Rek shook his head.  Did it really matter?

"I guess it is of no real consequence.  I am Itja-Rek, and that is Davos, who calls himself the Worm, although I do not see how that is an accurate title.  I take it you come from Outside.  What lies beyond this tunnel?  I have yet to leave it."

As Itja-Rek spoke, he felt a strange itching coming from within himself.  Moments later, several of the stones which had been glowing began to mutate in shape, turning into dull brutes made of stone that began smashing their stony fists into one another.  Annoyed at yet another intruder in his cave, Itja-Rek picked each one up and threw them from the tunnel, knowing that the water would prevent them from coming to too much harm.

"Come out!" he cried to the walls of his tunnel.  "I want to know who did this!  Enough meddling with what is mine!" 

But no one emerged.  Itja-Rek returned to the other gods.

"Did either of you see who did that?"  

~Mishway~

Syreene's gaze caught on the distant horizon. Huge earthmotes were being thrown from the ground with massive force, floating upwards in a strange spiral shape.

Some time later, she noticed an ephemeral tinge to the air coming from the same direction. "Look yonder" she finally spoke up. "Another of our kin stalks this realm."

She stood up, arms spread wide, palms up, enjoying the feeling of wind over her skin. "Greetings, wanderer. I am called Syreene. What brings you to this grove?"

The ill-defined God drifted towards the strange anomaly it saw in the distance, closing the distance in not so great a time.  As it drifted closer however, a strange tingle carried on the air, an unknown energy that reverberated through this stagnate plane that seemed to emanate not from the strange hills but instead from something in its vicinity. 

Dropping down till it was at ground level again, the God drifted into the grove and began to examine the activity within.  Flowers blooming in the sun, adorned with a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, trees swaying in a barely perceptible breeze as strange six legged chittinous creatures and larger furry quadrapeds crawled along their length.  The God was fascinated, and the colors within its form began to dance with ever more vibrancy whilst the melody that accompanied it became ever livelier.

Coming to a clearing within this beautiful place, the newborn Deity stumbled upon three peculiar figures.  Two were tall and lithe, the third shorter and more plump, all had four limbs and one had two strange black wings sprouting from its back.  Manes of strangely colored and textured matter flowed from the top of their heads, ranging in color from darkest obsidian black to golden strands to starkly white.  The small plump one was adorned in some rather ostentatious teal fabrics of incredible complexity that caught the ethereal God's attention, though it seemed rather too loud, for the setting.

One of them motioned towards the being and noise began to pour from an opening located on the lower end of a sphere atop the rest of its form.  Strangely, the newborn God discovered that it these sounds seemed to carry meaning, and that he could understand what this other was saying.  However, the words seemed hollow and distant, almost bland in their character.  The cloud could not shake the feeling that the words spoken were merely a poor imitation of a something more tangible, powerful, and more real.  One word however, Syrene, seemed to carry more weight than the others.

This universe, this plane, had a pre-existing language that flowed in its bones.  The God could not explain how it knew this, but it did, and as it came to the realization that it knew this fact it also became aware of the whole of that strange and ancient language.  The language structured and molded the newborn God's malleable mind and imbued it with understanding and meaning.  Simultaneously, the music that surrounded the God became heavier, bombastic, and layered, conveying deeper meaning whilst the patterns in the God’s form shifted into ever more complex sequences.

The ethereal God wished to respond to this Syrene, however it found that it could not form the words of power properly in its current state.  So reaching deep into its form, seizing a portion of its divine power, the God bound some of its energy into a solid form shaped in crude imitation of these others faces.  Round white alabaster, it was a crude imitation with only eyes and a mouth; however it would serve the intended purpose.

This mask floated from deep in the God’s form until it rested at the front of the mass or roiling energy, facing these other beings.  A single word, laden with power and meaning like nothing spoken in the world for thousands of years, was then spoken from that crude mouth, “Beauty”. 

4PP Create Greater Artifact- The Masquerade is an alabaster mask in the same vein of the masks of Comedy and Tragedy which provides 1pp to Creation Actions.

An eye stalk, dripping placental juices, slipped out of the fleshy ball.  The eye, large and milky blue, looked dazedly at the Rock Men and scanned the area around Itja-Rek before focusing on Karak.

As Itja-Rek has already informed you, I am called Davos.  I think my true form lays deep in the world's core, amongst five immense caves.  I call them the Caverns of Davos.  The name lacks creative flair, but given the fantastical complexity of our creations so far, I believe soon I'll have something worthy of a grander name.

As a question, what if Itja-Rek, I, and you, Karak, combined our power and sought to create something more, something better than glowing jellyfish and Thrill Worms.

Upon Mishway's lone tree, another sphere had been formed. The sphere was orange and translucent, revealing a vague shadowy figure within. Inside, Caltabactos developed and was being nourished by the essense of Mishway. It would have spent more time within the confines of its egg, but it was quickly interrupted by a seismic pulse resulting from the mountains lifted from within the earth.

The pulse shook the tree, and the orange sphere unspectacularly fell to the hard ground, and burst open. The brown nourishing liquid within splattered across the earth and stained the grass, while a single four-digit hand lay with its palm facing the sky.

Immediately the hand began to twitch, realizing it was not in its protective sphere. It began frantically moving, attempting to get itself off from its 'back.' When it realized it was safe from any immediate harm, it re-located itself to a cleaner area, and rolled across the ground happily, (at least the hand appeared happy; it is difficult to judge without a face) removing the solidifying dark liquid as it rubbed off on the earth.

With the cleaning out of the way, the hand excitedly ran about on its digits, and began trying to think of something to do. The hand then questioned if it could even think without a brain, or if it just thought it was thinking. After a few seconds of debating itself, it gave itself a name: Caltabactos.

Sadly, it lacked a mouth which could pronounce this new name.