Latest revision as of 14:18, 9 June 2010

Something I came up with because I was bored and amused at the same time.

Creation: A Comedy of Errors

Act 1: Why The World Isn't Round

Gaia: ... Y'know, I'm really bored.

Cytherea: Yeah, me too.... Hey, I know, let's make something.

Gaia: ... Make what? I thought we'd made everything we could think of?

Cytherea: Oh, good point. Hey wait, crazy idea here. Let's make something that's not part of ourselves.

Gaia: Yeah, but what're we going to make it out of? All this Wyld stuff is unstable and kooky.

Cytherea, with a wicked grin: C'mere.

Gaia: Hey, wait! What are you doing!? DON'T TOUCH ME THERE! EEEK!

There are many screams as the extant unshaped raksha and shaped raksha flee Gaia's explosive new growth, capturing some in the process.

Gaia, as the body of Creation: Well, this is different.

Cytherea: Okay, now to go get the crippled kid to build stuff to populate it. HEY, AUTOCHTHON, GET YOUR GOLD PLATED BUTT OVER HERE!

Autochthon: Gold hasn't been invented yet, so my butt isn't gold-plated. Come to think of it, buttocks haven't been invented yet either.

Cytherea: Yes they do! I invented them, just now.

Autochthon looks behind him: So they have. So what do you want, oh shrill and tasteless one?

Cytherea points at the warped body of Gaia, Gaia waves meekly.: Make Creation out of her and make things for it.

Autochthon looks at the distorted Gaia, then at Cytherea, not enthusiastic at all: Right... and why should I do this?

Cytherea: BECAUSE I SAID SO, LIMPY MCLIMPSALOT!

Autochthon simply glares at Cytherea.

Gaia looks at Autochthon with huge puppy-dog eyes: Please?

Autochthon sighs, exhaling a gout of black smog-stuff: Oh, fine. Just remember you two owe me. So what kind of Creation do you want? Big, small?

Cytherea and Gaia together: BIG!

Autochthon nods, continuing: Aaand, did you want it to grow or shrink?

Gaia: Grows!

Cytherea, at the same time as Gaia: Shrinks!

Autochthon nods, and holds out a piece of paper and a pen: Okay, you two just sign the work order here and here, and you'll have one Creation made to order.

Cytherea signs: But will it shrink or grow?

Autochthon helps Gaia sign the paper: Yes.

Cytherea stomps her proverbial foot: Which is it? Grows or shrinks.

Autochthon, absently, looking over the paperwork: I already said yes, it does. Okay! Everything is in order.

Cytherea is about to ask her question again when Autocthon produces a large crystal sphere from his toolbelt and drops it on Gaia's heart grace, transforming them into the Five Elemental Poles. Gaia's essence-self ripples and undulates as the device changes the blank slate of her Creation face, forming the landscape of the world.

The other Primordials walk up.

Malfeas walks up to Autochthon and shoves him down: Heeey, look everybody, the cripple made something! What'd you make, Gimpy? A toaster oven with sparkles on top?

Autochthon, lying face down in the Western Oceans: Gaia and Cytherea had me help them make something called Creation.

Adorjan zooms by everybody and into Creation: Whoot! A new place to do things in! I'll make something called wind and it'll be all capricious and stuff.

Szoreny, as an aside to the other Primordials: Yeah, because she's a big bag of hot air. Anyhoo, I'm gonna go throw a housewarming party for Cytherea, guys wanna come along?

The Primordials exit, chuckling and nodding in agreement, leaving Gaia and Autochthon behind.

Gaia: Um... aren't you going to get up, Autochthon?

Autocthon, still lying face-down in the oceans: No, I just invented something I call sea life and decided to beta test it.

Sometime later...

Cecylene sits down, wiping her forehead of sweat: This isn't much fun anymore... when did Creation become work?

The other Primordials shrug collectively, saying variations on "I don't know".

She Who Lives In Her Name: ... Why don't we get the feeb over there to make us some servants to do all the grunt work for us?

The Ebon Dragon: Yeah, and that way we can devote more time to playing this game I found lying around.

Cytherea: What? How would you just /find/ a game laying around? One of us had to have made it or it wouldn't exist.

Ebon Dragon: I don't know, I just found it laying around in the Wyld.

Malfeas: Ooh ooh, game! I wanna see it!

The Ebon Dragon whips out the game box and holds it up proudly for all assembled Primordials to see. It reads "THE GAMES OF DIVINITY (c)" in large friendly letters, and shows several non-existant Primordials playing the game on the front. There's a look on the faces of the Primordials of instant envy/addiction/desire.

The Primordials: Ooooh, I wanna play!

She Who Lives In Her Name: Yeah, but first we gotta ditch the hippy and the walking defect over there. *jerks her thumb over at Gaia and Autochthon*

Gaia and Autochthon are over in the East discussing something about trees and how lovely they are, and that there really ought to be more shrubbery.

Kimbery, imitating Gaia mockingly: Oh, but who'll take care of Creation? Who'll make sure it works out okay? Autochthon and me can't do it all alone!

Cecylene: Yeah, while you're doing that, I'm gunna go make a place for us to play. I'll call it Yu-Shan and it'll be our private little penthouse.

She Who Lives in Her Name: And for giggles, we'll make our future servants all sit there on that big island there and watch us have fun while they're slaving away. Ha ha ha!

Malfeas: And we can give them free will so that when we visit we'll be surprised.

Ebon Dragon: But what happens if they decide to rebel against us?

He-Who-Holds-In-Thrall: No problem! We'll make swear oaths on their own names that they can't raise a hand against us.

Ebon Dragon: Ooh, good idea, they'll never get out of that one. Hey, I'll go convince 'Great Maker' to do it.

Cecylene and the others depart as the Ebon Dragon approaches where Autochthon is working on a lump of white jade and looking rather frustrated. He looks up from his work.

Autochthon, sighing: Is it pantsing day again already?

Ebon Dragon: No that's tomorrow, but thanks for the reminder, chum.

Autochthon glances at the stubborn lump of jade and chucks it over his shoulder: If you're not here for cruel jokes and taunt me about my health, you obviously want something made.

Ebon Dragon: You got it, machine man.

Autochthon: ... And why should I make anything for you or the others? All you do is torment me.

Ebon Dragon smiles with all the smarm he can muster, clapping Autochthon on the back: Because, Autochthon, you're not like the others. You actually enjoy making things and watching them work. You like the challenge and the intellectual stimulation of it. It's a part- Nay! Your fundamental nature to create and tinker, your divine heritage! It was what you defined yourself by when you thought yourself into existance, and what you are bound by the laws governing our very exsistence into doing!

Autochthon: Just like the reason you're the slipperiest silver-tongued bastard there'll ever be?

Ebon Dragon: PREcisely, my good fellow!

Autochthon: Well, you've got me pegged, I do like a challenge. Okay, so what do you want?

The Ebon Dragon explains what the Primordials want in brief.

Autochthon: Huh... so you say you guys want to ditch what you do in Creation to go play a game?

Ebon Dragon: Yep. Oh, and I'm terribly sorry, my dear fellow, but the other Primordials would rather you don't participate in the Games. I tried to convince them, but well... you know how loud and insistant Adorjan and Cytherea get. And then the others, they-

Autochton, interrupting the Ebon Dragon: Oh, no, I'm fine with it. Who needs games when you've got all this to work with? *He gestures to mean Creation*

The Ebon Dragon spies something in Autochthon's hands: What's that you've got there, Autochthon?

Autochthon: Oh, I call it a mortal, and it's the First of its kind. I made it out of some funky jade I found in the ground. I think I'll call it a Jadeborn, and tell it to go find more weird lumps of white jade and make more of its kind. Go on little guy, be free! *Autochthon sets the First down upon the Elemental Pole of Earth and turns back to the Ebon Dragon*

The Ebon Dragon watches the First walk around aimlessly for a moment, wheels turning in the infinite schemes of its minde: Oh, sorry, where was I...? What? Wait! Mortals? Jadeborn? When did you make those?

Autochthon: Oh, I made them while you were talking about how I was bound by my definition to create things. See, I figured out that the weird jade has trapped raksha in it, and-

Autochthon goes into a very long and lengthy explanation of how he made the First, at which point the Ebon Dragon's eyes glaze over and he simply nods and says 'Uh huh' at the appropriate points.

Autochthon: ... and that's how I made the first mortal, which I call a jadeborn.

Ebon Dragon: Huh? OH! Right. Brilliant idea, Autocthon, keep 'em coming! Hey listen, make sure the gods you create swear on their own names that they won't raise a hand against us. I mean, who knows what might happen if the little midgets get uppity!

Autochthon: What about any mortals that end up being made?

Ebon Dragon: Mortals? Eh, who cares? They're too puny to ever threaten our Primordial power. Just let them roam free and do amusing but insignifigant stuff. Oh, and I'd love it if there was a race of dragons that weren't... soo.... y'know... elemental or bitey. They can be the kings of dragons, really... Dragon kings! And put them there in the corners of Creation. Make 'em really tough, but not so tough they don't die. Oh, and you could have them reincarnate as themselves.

Autochthon nods, writing things down as the Ebon Dragon prattles on...

Act 2: The Ever Present Loophole

Malfeas, Adorjan, and He-Who-Holds-In-Thrall are picking on Autochthon, with He-Who-Holds-In-Thrall holding Autochthon upside-down and shaking him.

Autochthon: Please stop, I think I'm getting a nose bleed...

He-Who-Holds-In-Thrall: I'll stop when you cough up something fun to toy with, feeb. Malfeas, work the breadbasket.

Malfeas obliges by belting Autochthon a few times in the gut, working him over a few times. Cogs and plates go flying everywhich way. One of Autochthon's eyes goes flying out and lands somewhere in Creation, along with less powerful bits like an astrological calendar that lands in what will become Varang, and a inspiration thought-entity that gets stuck somewhere near where the future Haslanti League will form. A herd of furnace rhinos flies out as a result one of the blows and lands in the South.

Adorjan looks at Autochthon with false pity mixed with the selection of a seductive shape: Aww... come on Autochthon... no more toys for us to play with? If you make me a new toy to play with, we could have so much fun together...

Autochthon: But all you guys ever do is beat me up, make me the butt of your jokes, and mock my health! Everything I make you end up wrecking with what you call playing! I'm not going to let you guys break my stuff anymore!

The Ebon Dragon walks up, carrying something: Eh, forget him. He's useless to us now... BUT! He can witness as we take apart one of his many inventions. *The Ebon Dragon holds out in his hand The First, wriggling and struggling to escape the clutches of the Primordial* Does this look familiar, you pathetic excuse for a Primordial?

Autochthon, with tears welling up in his eyes: I- I thought you were my friend, Ebon Dragon...

Ebon Dragon: Really? Because I thought you would have gotten all the hints I'd dropped over the past eternity that I wasn't. Wasn't Pantsing Day a huge clue? I mean, really! *he puts on a handsome/wicked/devilish smile, taking on the shape of interminable evil hiding behind a pleasing face* I guess I defined myself to be more clever than you defined yourself to be, Autochthon. Even if you're unwilling to give your secrets to us and hide them instead, we'll simply tear apart what you've already made to steal your knowledge and use it for our own purposes.

Autochthon, flailing uselessly against the virtual stranglehold upon him by He-Who-Holds-In-Thrall: No! Don't do it! I beg of you, don't do it!

The Ebon Dragon simply smiles that irresistable devil's grin of his, and begins taking apart The First. The resultant screams of pain would never be wholly replicated in Creation, as the imperishable body and soul of the First is rent apart and rearranged in ways that only a Primordial could dream of. Many times The First wished himself dead, but found no release, no escape of the soul to the safety of the jade womb. From the torment of The First was drawn the template for humanity, whose birth cries are faint echoes of the First's screams.

The Unconquered Sun, Luna, and the Six Maidens are standing around on the Elemental Pole of Earth, looking up.

The Unconquered Sun, pointing up: Hey, do you ever wonder what it is the bosses do up there in Yu-Shan?

Everybody looks expectantly at Jupiter, who looks back at them: What?

Venus: Do you know what they do up there in Yu-Shan?

Jupiter shrugging: Why should I know?

Mercury: Because you're the Maiden of Secrets, not the Maiden of the Obvious, sister.

Maiden of the Obvious: Yeah, that's my job!

Jupiter smiles enigmatically, finger waggling: If I told you, I'd disappear in a puff of logic.

Luna stares at Jupiter, exasperated: ... You don't know, do you?

Jupiter, finger waggling at them again: That is a secret!

The rest of the crowd groans and shakes their head at the statement. Suddenly a massive eye peers out from a crack in the sky that has been opened up.

She-Who-Lives-In-Her-Name: HEY, are you guys plotting again? Cuz if you are, I'll give you such a BEATING...

The Celestial Incarnae, quickly covering the mouth of the Maiden of the Obvious so she can't speak: No oh glorious master, we're not plotting anything!

She-Who-Lives-In-Her-Name: GOOD, because then I'd sack the lot of you if you were.... Carry on!

The Unconquered Sun, after She-Who-Lives-In-Her-Name departs: I'm really sick of being threatened and mangled every time one of them comes down here to play.... Plus I want to know what it is they spend most of their time up there doing.

Mars: Yeah... I'm tired of being threatened and beaten up too... I mean, that's what I'm supposed to do, for crying out loud.

Venus: And the devastation they bring to all the mortals... poor things, I don't think the humans have even discovered what steel is yet because Malfeas keeps stomping on their largest villages for the fun of it.

Jupiter: They ask me to keep the most awful secrets...

Mercury, shaking her head: Not to mention the havoc they cause with travel, what with breaking whole chunks of Creation up just because they're bored and want something to do. UGH.

The Maiden of the Obvious: Primordials suck!

Luna: Yeah, and the only one that's any fun in the sack is Gaia...

The other incarnae simply STARE at Luna incredulously.

Luna: ... What?

The Unconquered Sun, shaking his head: ... Nevermind. You've been really quiet, Saturn, what's your thoughts on the matter?

Saturn says nothing, but draws her finger across her throat.

The Unconquered Sun, clapping all four of his hands: Great! So Saturn says it's time to end the Reign of the Primordials... so how do we do that if we can't do it ourselves? I mean, we've got an iron-clad contract! Have any of you actually READ this thing? *The Unconquered Sun produces a ludicrously huge and thick tome entitled Spirit Employment Contract, and waves it around, accidentally knocking over Mars with its ponderous bulk*

Jupiter, smiling quietly: I have.

The Maiden of the Obvious: She knows a secret!

Luna: Oh, like that's anything new...

Mars, picking herself up and nursing the wound the Spirit Employment Contract gave her: ... Jupiter, if you don't tell us what in blazes they do up there, I'm going to get the rubber hose...

Jupiter, scowling: Okay, fine. They play the Games of Divinity. There, you happy?

The rest of the Incarnae get instant envy/addiction/desire in their eyes: Ooooooh... and what are the Games of Divinity.

Jupiter shrugs: I dunno.

Mars: WHAT?! HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW?! THAT'S IT! THE RUBBER HOSE FOR Y-

Maiden of the Obvious: Because they didn't tell her!

The Unconqured Sun blinks at the Maiden of the Obvious: How did you know that?

Maiden of the Obvious: ... Um... I'm the Maiden of the Obvious?

The Unconquered Sun, smacking his forehead: Oh, right, forgot about that. So... we'll plot their-

The sky opens up again to reveal a green sun peering out.

Malfeas: You guys had better not be plotting against us, you hear! Or it's the rubber hose for you all!

Maiden of the Obvious: Of course I'm plotting against-

Maiden of the Obvious is smote from existance with green fire, leaving a crater and a massive chunk of starmetal.

Luna, looking at the remains of the Maiden of the Obvious: Now that was bound to happen sooner or later, right Saturn?

Saturn nods quietly.

The Unconquered Sun, also looking at the Maiden of the Obvious' remains: ... Did we even bother giving her a name?

Venus: Did we even care enough to? I mean, she was on the job for two weeks and the Employment Contract says you don't get a name until your three month probationary period is up.

The Unconquered Sun: Point taken. But still, that's the seventh Maiden of the Obvious we've gone through this season... Maybe we should stop hiring them.

Saturn nods in agreement at the Unconquered Sun's idea. And that's why there isn't a sixth Maiden.

The gods looked subtly for a way to break their chains. They came across Autochthon, sitting in the shadows of his great workshop, muttering to himself and working at his bench.

Autochthon, muttering and coughing: I'll show them! I'll show them all! They'll regret ever making fun of me. ~COUGH~ Heh heh heh ~HACK SPUTTER WHEEZE~.

The Celestial Incarnae look at each other quizzically, wondering what the Machine God is on about. More specifically, they're looking at Jupiter.

Jupiter, sighing: Geez, do I have to tell you guys EVERYTHING? I'm not the Maiden of Loose Lips! She was killed a thousand years ago!

Luna, leering: Oh, but that's not what you said last- *Luna gets a starmetal brick to the back of his head and falls face first with a thud to the ground*

Saturn has a smug look on her face, and a slingshot hidden in her hand.

Jupiter chides Luna: Some things should remain a secret, Luna.

Luna, rubbing his head: Yeah, but did you really have to- *Another starmetal brick smacks Luna in the face* OKAY! POINT TAKEN! I'LL SHUT UP NOW!

Mercury looks skeptically at Luna: And... how long will that last, I wonder?

Luna: Hey n-! *This time Luna is cut off by Saturn glaring at him, and promptly shuts up*

Autochthon cackles madly: It's alive! ALLLIIIIIIIIVE! MWAHAHAH *HACK WHEEZE ohcrapicantbreathe sounds*

Saturn glances at the other Incarnae, who are just staring trying to figure out what the heck is wrong with Autochthon, sighs, and snaps her fingers, calling upon the handshake protocols of the design weavers and spirits within the Great Maker to fix the problem so that important business may be conducted. Within a moment, Autochthon recovers as his autonomic processes reassert themselves.

Autochthon: Ooh, you don't appreciate your lungs until they don't work... ugh... ... ... *He finally notices the Incarnae* Hey, aren't there supposed to be eight of you?

The Unconquered Sun, shrugging nonchalantly: Eh, she was sacked and we decided not to hire a replacement.

Autochthon, sighing: Just as well, that was the seventh one this season. I'm tired of making Maidens of the Obvious. That makes five thousand two-hundred twenty-seven Celestial Incarnae they destroyed, five thousand two hundred twenty-five of which were Maidens of the Obvious! They think starmetal grows on trees! Ha! *wheezehackhack*

Autochthon pulls his creation off the desk and shows them to the really-small-by-comparison-to-the-Primordial Celestial Incarna. It looks like men and women made of clay and magical materials: I call it... Exaltation.

Mars, non-plussed: Yeah, and... what is it?

Autochthon hmms... thinking: Well, I suppose you could call it an upgrade from Mortality v3.14 to Mortality v4.0. These are just the beta tests for version 4.0 though... I do plan for Exaltation to be a full package upgrade for mortals though. Give them a defense against my idiot brothers and sisters.

The Unconquered Sun, rubbing his chin: Exalted, you say... Hey Autochthon, how would you like to get revenge on your Primordial siblings for picking on you since... uh... well, forever?

Luna, still nursing his wounds, with bandages and an ice pack: Hey, hey! I see where this is going! Leave Gaia out of this, she hasn't picked on the Machine God here, and she doesn't go around wrecking civilizations for shits and giggles. Besides, if she's beaten up, she won't be as sexy and that'll kill my mojo... *Luna notices everybody is staring intently at him, and it is dead silent for a moment* ... What?

They collectively shake their heads.

The Unconquered Sun: ... Nothing Luna, nothing at all. Autochthon, you wrote the Spirit's Employment Contract right? Are there any loopholes that would let us overthrow the other Primordials?

Autochthon seems to think on this: There is one...

Act 3: Enough Is Enough

After a time, the Sidereal Exalted have been trained... Or rather, are being trained to assist the Maidens in the maintenance of the Loom.

Mars: No no no, Sword-Eater, you're supposed to use a Number 9 Crochet hook then a 10pt Knitting Needle to create a border skirmish.

Venus: And this hair from a lovely maiden to weave a story of forbidden love into the border skirmish.

Mercury: And this strand of straw to make it take a decade to complete.

Jupiter: And this thorn to play the thread so that the secret love is kept hidden.

Saturn says nothing, simply giving Sword-Eater a smile and a thumps-up.

Sword-Eater, exasperated: You're all crazy! What the hell does a thorn, hair, straw, crochet hooks, and knitting needles have to do with weaving fate?!

Jupiter, smiling at the young Sidereal: That, is a secret.

Sword-Eater, gesturing at the millions of Pattern Spiders: Why can't we let /them/ do all the work?

A Pattern Spider eyes Sword-Eater and then... BITES a thread on the Loom.

Sword-Eater: OW! What was /that/ for? Ow! Son of a... okay, okay! I get it!

Venus: Because even Pattern Spiders need time off, apprentice. They don't appreciate it when beings make their work even harder.

Sword-Eater: So they get time off? What do they do in their time off?

Jupiter: Oh, mostly participate in string octets, quilt-making, building spiderwebs, hit on the Design Weavers visiting from Autochthon, bitching about how much work they have.

Mercury, passing Sword-Eater a scroll: Anyway, got a job for you.

Sword-Eater picks up the scroll and reads it aloud: Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to assist She-Who-Lives-In-Her-Name in attending to the aspects of Creation which are not the purview of the Five Maidens. This will involve intelligence gathering on who hates who, which gods seem loyal to She-Who-Lives-In-Her-Name, and the remittance of five Yu-Shan Brand Malt Shakes to each Maiden upon completion of this mission.

Venus: Don't forget the malt shakes, those are nummy.

Sword-Eater stares in shock at the Five Maidens: So you want me to be an errand boy for the most tyrranical and despotic Titan in existance?

Saturn merely nods at Sword-Eater while the other four Maidens say yes.

Mercury picks up Sword-Eater and throws him upwards into Yu-Shan: Up you go!

Sword-Eater: But I didn't say I would do this!

Jupiter, calling after Sword-Eater: I know that secretly in your heart, you would have accepted anyway!

After Sword-Eater has disappeared from sight, the other four maidens look at Saturn for some reason, and she smiles enigmatically and shrugs.

Sometime later, the first Solar Exalted draws second breath.

The Unconquered Sun appears in a blaze of glory to a farmer working in a field.

The Unconquered Sun: Hey, how're you doing, Jim?

Jim: Not bad, Heilos, how about yerself?

The Unconquered Sun: Oh, not bad either, just the normal stress of shining every day. You know how it goes. How's Ethel and the twins?

Jim: Well, Ethel's been feelin' under the weather, being with child and all, the twins are finding no end of mischief to get into. Pete's been throwin' rocks at the hornet's nest again, while Delmer annoys Selphim Fire-Scales with his endless questions.

The Unconquered Sun nods, appearing to listen intently: Uh huh, okay, yeah... Hey listen, how would you like the ability to change the world?

Jim mulls this over, scratching his beard: Well, I'd like to make sure Ethel doesn't die in childbirth like Martha did... Sure, I wouldn't mind the power to change the world, boss-man.

The Unconquered Sun nods: Okay then. By the power invested in me, I dub thee a Solar Exalted, one of my Chosen. Now go forth and change the world in my name.

Jim looks at himself as he glows with the colors of the noon-day sun: Well gee golly, I feel like I was just born again! Thanks, Unconquered Sun.

He-Who-Holds-In-Thrall, pointing at Creation: Hey look, the ants are massing armies. Again.

Malfeas: Oop! Better smash the Dragon-Kings! Who's bright idea was it to make them?

Ebon Dragon, smashing Dragon-King Civilization with minions: No clue. Certainly not I.

A primordial runs by, on fire and screaming. Malfeas points and laughs.

Malfeas: Har har har! Look at That-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named go! I wonder why she's on fire... Ow! Ow! What the?~! Malfeas stomps about as an army chops off his foot. Other Primordials are attacked, with glowing gold spots at particularly bad places.

He-Who-Holds-In-Thrall: AURGH! AUTOCHTHON! HELP! They're killing m~! Gurk!

Comments

Ooookey, this was just hilarious. Good work gave me good laugh -Azurelight

It is quite amusing... ^_^ ~ Haku

AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHALOLFTW!!! ~ Han'ya is feeling shallow today