Gods of Creation (Riot God Quest)

Turn 1 - The Prismatic Era

"The First Language is the Language of Colors. It is the language of divinity, remember it well if you wish to understand the structure of our world,"
-First lesson on Metaphysical Chromatology.

Bend the Light to Create Colors
The first god to awaken gazes upon the infant cosmos finds that it could be more. The Sun's light, pure and undivided, bathed the cosmos in its brilliant glow. Yet, in its singularity, the light held within it the potential for infinite variation, waiting to be unleashed. The canvas of existence stretched out before the gods, vast and untouched, ready to be shaped by their will.

They reached out to the light, feeling its warmth, its intensity. It felt the energy of creation, still raw and untamed, and began to twist. They began to bend the light, manipulating its essence to reveal the spectrum, space itself serving as the prism to reveal all. Slowly, the light began to change. The first hints of color emerged, subtle at first, then growing more vibrant and distinct. Reds, blues, greens, and every hue imaginable began to ripple across the void, each one a thread in the grand tapestry of creation.

The god is soon joined by others, agreeing with their comrades desire and adding their own efforts to it, every new participant amplifying the efforts of one to ever escalating heights. Soo enough the newly illuminated cosmos is awash with every color possible and impossible, stretching out to pain all of existence in a kaleidoscopic mosaic.


The Law of Consistency
In the growing expanse of creation, where light and color began to paint the canvas of existence, a newly awakened goddess found herself indecisive on what idea she would bring about until she came to a swift realization. The universe, still in its infancy, was a place of boundless potential, but also of delicate fragility. She knew that as the cosmos expanded, as new forms and ideas came into being, there would be risks—unintended consequences that could unravel the very fabric of reality. Her mind, ever creative, sought a way to ensure that the world she and the others would craft could endure, that the beauty of creation would not be marred by unforeseen disasters.

And so, she conceived of a canvas—not one of material substance, but of pure, axiomatic logic. She would lay down a foundational law, an invisible yet omnipresent framework that would govern the consistency of the universe. It would be a safeguard, a means by which the cosmos could maintain its integrity, even in the face of the most profound and chaotic changes.

The Law of Consistency, as she envisioned it, would permeate all of existence, from the smallest particle of matter to the grandest celestial bodies. It would be the perfect canvas upon which the gods could paint their creations, ensuring that the universe would be capable of governing its own consistency, adapting to the whims of divine will without breaking apart.

With a thought, the goddess set the Law of Consistency into motion and her edict would be supported by others, making this impossible desire become something easily done. With a thousand hands they unwove the cosmos and wove it back together, intertwined with the framework of the new law.

The Canvas, as she called it, was now woven into the essence of reality itself. It was a simple yet profound law: the universe would smooth out the consequences of any actions that might threaten its coherence. If paradoxes were created, if beings from outside the known reality appeared, the Canvas would bend and adapt, ensuring that the cosmos could continue to exist in harmony.

Yet, the Canvas was not a rigid force. It was fluid, adaptable, and above all, unpredictable. How it responded to each situation would depend on the specifics of the event, on the magnitude of the change, and the potential danger it posed to the whole. A paradox might result in a time loop, an alternate timeline, or perhaps the instant return of the instigator to the present—each outcome carefully tailored to preserve the universe's consistency without outright rejecting the new reality.

The Canvas was aware, in a sense, but not in the way that a sentient being was. It did not possess will or consciousness, but it was a masterful rule, a conceptually perfect logic that ensured the universe would never act against itself. The Canvas would never destroy something that had become part of existence, for that would mean unraveling a piece of its own being. Instead, it would draw upon an endless well of inspiration, subtly shifting and correcting, finding ways to integrate even the most disruptive elements into the greater whole.

In these early days of creation, when the gods were most active, the Canvas's influence would be most noticeable. As they shaped reality, the Canvas would adjust, warping details here and there to preserve the consistency of the universe. Over time, as the universe matured, its need to intervene would lessen, for much would already have been accounted for by the myriad actions of the gods.

And so, the goddess's restless mind found peace. The universe now had its canvas—a perfect, adaptable foundation upon which all creation could stand. With this law in place, the gods were free to create, to experiment, to push the boundaries of reality, knowing that the Canvas would ensure the world they shaped would endure, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

The Law of Consistency was in place, and the universe was ready for the next great act of creation.


Horizon
As reality was reinforced another brought up the idea of boundaries, it saw the endless depths of Primeval Night and wished to demarcate the boundaries. The proposal was met with approval and with the combined will of many the chaos mists that marked the transition between the gas and dust of reality and the undifferentiated chaos of unreality was taken in hand. The mists were twined and molded together to form a barrier, space was twisted until a great kaleidoscopic wall marked the boundary of the World's edge. The Horizon, a line that marked the world's edge and where, no matter which direction you go all points will eventually meet as all space eventually curved to reach that line.

As the Horizon took form, the world became more defined. The gods could now see the full extent of their domain, a place of light and color, governed by the Law of Consistency, and now bounded by the Horizon. Beyond it lay the infinite possibilities of the Chaos Mist, still untamed, still waiting to be shaped by divine hands.


The Soul
As physical reality was shaped the question of the spiritual was pondered, and what exactly constituted it was had. IN the end one amongst the Primordial Gods would propose a way to define it and would be met with agreement. And with agreement the idea took hold and was materialized. The idea of the soul was moved from fantasy to reality and its bound accepted within it.

The soul, as the gods envisioned it, would be the conceptual self—a reflection of one's innermost essence. It would serve as a guardian, a protector against the esoteric threats that lurked in the fabric of reality. Whether it be the dangers of mind control, the peril of being erased by time's flow, or the myriad other existential risks that could befall a being, the soul would stand as a bulwark, preserving the integrity of existence.

In its early stages, a soul would be simple, forming from the first sparks of thought and the initial stirrings of emotion. But as the being continued to think, feel, and experience the world, the soul would grow, becoming more complex, more intricate. With each new thought, each new feeling, the soul would strengthen, weaving itself into the very essence of the individual.

Over time, as the soul accumulated more layers of complexity and experience, it would become more powerful, its presence a formidable force in the cosmos. A soul could protect its bearer from the most insidious of threats, maintaining their existence against the shifting tides of reality. Yet, for now, this was all the soul would provide—a fundamental layer of protection and continuity in a universe where change was constant and often unpredictable.


The First Guardian
The cosmos, now filled with light, color, and the foundational laws of existence, had become a place of growing complexity and wonder. Yet, as creation expanded, so too did the need to protect what had been brought into being. The First Sun, the blazing beacon that had banished the primordial darkness, was the heart of this newborn universe. Its light was the lifeblood of all that had been created, and so, as the gods stirred more and more into wakefulness it was decreed by one amongst them that a guardian must be fashioned to defend it against any threat that might seek to extinguish its brilliance.

From the swirling chaos, the First Guardian was born. It emerged as an eldritch, shifting mass, a creature unlike any other in existence. Its form was a terrifying amalgamation of claws, fangs, horns, tentacles, wings, eyes, and bone plating, all constantly in motion, altering and refining themselves in response to any perceived threat. This creature had no need for physical sustenance; the light of the First Sun itself was enough to sustain it, filling it with the energy it needed to fulfill its purpose.

The Guardian was endowed with the ability to move freely through the vastness of space, gliding effortlessly under its own power, with no visible means of locomotion. Its appearance was fearsome, a manifestation of raw power and adaptability, designed to face any challenge that might arise. Yet, despite its monstrous visage and immense strength, the First Guardian was a docile being, content to drift in the light of the Sun, its mind calm and peaceful as long as it sensed no danger. But when a threat was perceived, the Guardian would spring into action, its form shifting and adapting to meet the challenge with unmatched ferocity. It was a being of pure defense, designed to protect and preserve, a prototype born from the half-dreaming thoughts of a god not yet fully awake.

And in its first moments did the Guardian look upon all that existed and gazed even upon its creators and began to shift and adapt. For in assessing the universe of all threats it became readily clear to it that the most likely source of threat that would strike at the sun was its creators itself. So it began to shift and adapt as is its nature, preparing for the day that it should turn against its makers should they present themselves as a threat.


Augustus the Amazing
As the gods turned away from their first living creation another set opted to create another one among the gods, a being with a flair for the whimsical and the extraordinary, conceived of a creature unlike any other—Augustus the Amazing.

From a strange, glowing substance that shimmered with an inner light, Augustus was formed. His appearance was as eccentric as his nature, adorned in a magical tailcoat and a tophat that seemed to pulse with the same otherworldly glow. These garments, like Augustus himself, were no ordinary attire; they were bound to him in a way that defied logic. Should they be taken from him, destroyed, or lost, they would reappear, pristine and whole, as if nothing had happened. This was no mere trick—it was a testament to the unique nature of his creation.

Augustus was immortal, a being who existed beyond the need for the basic necessities of life. He did not eat, drink, sleep, or breathe, nor did he desire companionship in the traditional sense. Asexual and aromantic, Augustus was content with his own company, driven by a singular passion: to learn the secrets of the universe and to entertain others with the wonders he discovered. Though the cosmos was still largely empty, Augustus had an unyielding optimism and a deep-seated desire to bring joy to whatever life might eventually come into being.

Its might was wanting in comparison to the ever adapting might of the First Guardian, it was instead endowed with an unparalleled mind with an innate talent for understanding the mechanics of the universe, Augustus quickly began to explore his surroundings. He marveled at the light of the First Sun, the colors that filled the void, and the delicate balance maintained by the Law of Consistency. But what truly captivated him was the First Guardian—a massive, eldritch creature whose sole purpose was to protect the Sun. Augustus saw in the Guardian a potential audience, someone to whom he might show his tricks and entertain, even if the Guardian's focus was entirely elsewhere.

But in these early days of creation, Augustus found himself somewhat at a loss. There were no audiences, no crowds to dazzle, no creatures to cheer for his performances. The universe was still in its infancy, and life had not yet spread across the cosmos. Yet, Augustus was undeterred. Augustus the Amazing began his long vigil, awaiting the day when he would have an audience to entertain. For now, he amused himself with the First Guardian, trying to catch its attention with little feats of magic and illusion, though the Guardian remained steadfast in its duty, seemingly indifferent to Augustus's antics. But Augustus did not mind; he knew that in time, the universe would teem with life, and he would have countless opportunities to bring smiles and wonder to all who crossed his path.


Hope
In the radiant light of the First Sun, where the cosmos had begun to take shape and meaning, a new presence stirred. Born from the brilliance and warmth of the Sun's light, this being was unlike any other—a creature not of flesh and bone, but of pure essence and concept. This was the birth of Hope, a force that would come to influence the very fabric of reality.

Hope was not a physical entity; it existed beyond the material world, a Lovecraftian being whose true form defied mortal comprehension. Those rare beings who might glimpse it in the future would describe it as a star, blazing with tendrils of fire that reached out like grasping hands, pulling at the edges of reality. To witness Hope was to confront something so vast, so incomprehensible, that it could drive lesser minds to madness. Yet, for all its terrifying grandeur, Hope was a force of benevolence.

Intelligent and sapient, Hope's thoughts moved on a cosmic scale, far beyond the understanding of most beings. It perceived time, space, and existence in ways that defied conventional logic, seeing connections and possibilities where others saw only chaos. But despite this alien nature, Hope was not a creature of malice. Its very presence in the universe spread a sense of optimism, a spark of possibility that could inspire even the darkest of hearts.

Alas the embodied concept could not exist in logic of reality and the Law of Consistency acted, shifting and changing and the promptly ejecting the newborn Hope into the Primeval Night, beyond the Horizon. It would dwell in the infinite nothingness, forever lost if not for the existence of a benign to beckon it back into reality.

Augustus, ever optimistic and thus ever hopeful, sought out an audience to entertain and so when Hope was born, in its fleeting moments of existence before it was banished, a connection was formed. From Augustus's hope was Hope drawn back to reality, if not in body then in mind and spirit. Radiating tendrils of golden fire creeped into reality through Augustus's hope and allowed a lesser projection of itself in the form of a small star, in imitation of its birth place.

Augustus would be delighted to finally have a receptive audience and Hope luxuriated in the optimism of the magician.


The Prismatic Spark of Mana
In the vibrant expanse of creation, where light and color had woven a tapestry of existence, a newly born god observed the unfolding of the cosmos. The world, in all its burgeoning beauty, was a place of wonder and potential. Yet, the god saw that even in this splendor, there was room for something more—something that could bring greater depth, vibrancy, and possibility to all that existed. And so, the Prismatic Spark of Mana was conceived.

With a thought, the god released the Prismatic Spark into the universe. It spread outwards, touching every corner of creation, infusing all things with its subtle, transformative energy. This spark was not a physical force but a conceptual one, a catalyst that would bring out the true essence of everything it touched. Colors became more vibrant, more reflective of their true nature, shading the world in a blur of hues that revealed the innermost qualities of all things.

The Prismatic Spark did more than merely enhance the physical world. It granted those with the capacity to think and feel—beings of consciousness—the ability to harness its power. In doing so, they could emit and control light beyond the physical, manifesting their inner essence in ways that transcended mere existence. At first, this power was modest—a small flicker of light, enough to move a pebble or flicker a candle flame. But with understanding, both of the world and of the self, this power could grow.

As beings began to comprehend more about their surroundings and their own nature, the Prismatic Spark within them would intensify. This prismatic mana would first be stored within their physical form, suffusing their colors with greater vibrancy—perhaps a deepening red for passion, a rich blue for sorrow, or any number of hues that reflected their inner state. This mana, however, was not without its challenges. Without proper control, it would overflow, leaking into the world and staining the environment with the colors of their essence.

It was a delicate balance. Those who could not contain their mana would find it seeping out, changing the world around them in subtle ways, marking it with their presence. But for those who could master their mana, the possibilities were endless. They could store it, use it, and perhaps even find new ways to channel and contain it beyond the limits of their physical form.

Even the inanimate world was not immune to the Prismatic Spark. Objects, too, began to produce mana, tainted with the purpose of their existence—the solid, steadfast grey of stone, the fluid, ever-changing blue of water. These objects would release small amounts of mana into the environment, blending with the natural mana that permeated the cosmos. This natural mana, a blend of all things, was seemingly invisible, its presence felt only in the way it smoothed and muted the sharper colors of other mana.

Natural mana, though capable of anything, was elusive, difficult to grasp or control. It required an understanding of both its nature and the desired outcome, refracting into the color most suited to the task at hand. It was a force of infinite potential, yet one that resisted easy manipulation, demanding careful thought and intent from those who sought to wield it.

Its first wielder would inevitably be Augustus, whose brilliance would illuminate the mana's nature and whose genius and ingenuity would quickly intuit how to utilize it. Quickly it learned how to utilize the colors it bore to manipulate the colors of wider reality, and in an era where colors of every possible hue filled the cosmos, he found no shortage of mana. The magician would weave great illusions in the light in imitation of the first god to awaken and act. It worked to entrain Hope even as it taught the entity all that it gleaned for the workings of the cosmos and the spark.


The Sanctioned Act of Cutting
As the world developed another god saw the new order that was being conceived, of the limits being imposed and rebelled against it. From its will it cried out to the cosmos and was soon joined by many others. From its will and voice it formed and blade and with sword in hand it cleaved the very foundation of reality, not destroying it but severing all fetters that declared something immutable.

With the Sanctioned Act of Cutting, also known as the Law of Swords or Holy Division, the universe was given the ability to separate, to discern, and to change. It was a paring of potentials, a division of things that were from things that are—a tangible law that governed the very essence of reality. No longer would the cosmos be a homogeneous state of infinite potential, but a structured, dynamic universe where change was not just possible, but inevitable.

This law empowered those who rejected stagnation, those who sought to forge their own destinies from the myriad possibilities that existed. The act of cutting was more than a mere separation; it was an assertion of will, a declaration that nothing was beyond change. Those who believed that fate was unchangeable, that certain outcomes were fixed and inevitable, would find themselves caught by the sword of maybe—a blade that severed the chains of impossibility and opened the way to new possibilities.

The Sanctioned Act of Cutting made change a sacred principle, a force that would drive the universe forward, ensuring that nothing remained static, that all things could evolve and adapt. It was a law that celebrated the power of choice, the ability to carve out new paths, to redefine oneself and the world. The Sanctioned Act of Cutting had cleaved through the lines between what is and what could be, empowering all beings to shape their own destinies, to cut away at what limited them to achieve the impossible.

THe effects of this law became most apparent in the Guardian, who readied itself for the day it would fight against its makers in defense of the sun, an impossible prospect for the Gods were omnipotent beings who, when pressed, could not be opposed. But with the Sanctioned Act the possibility of victory became possible. From its perch on the sun its many tendrils began to work as it adapted and grew and from the depths of itself began to form a sword, one made in the image of the great weapon used to establish the law of Holy Division, a blade with which the Guardian would one day murder the gods and topple their thrones.

Law of Collective Aegis
The Law of Holy Division would soon be followed by another law authored by another god - a law that would bind together the beings of creation in a powerful, unbreakable unity. This was the Law of Collective Aegis, an ontological truth that would form the bedrock of civilization, ensuring that progress and stability were upheld by the strength of cooperation and mutual protection.

The Law of Collective Aegis was not a concept that required validation or proof; it was an axiomatic principle, self-evident and inherent in the very structure of the universe. As it was woven into the cosmos, it became clear that the act of shielding and supporting one another was not merely a choice, but a fundamental force that shaped the destiny of all who embraced it.

At the core of this law was the understanding that unity and cooperation among beings or entities created a protective barrier, one that amplified their collective strength. It was a force greater than any individual power, a synergy born of shared purpose and mutual care. When individuals or groups came together, their combined efforts did more than just defend against external threats—they forged a collective resilience that elevated their entire civilization.

The law would become apparent in the collaboration of Hope and Augustus as they worked together to unravel the secrets of Mana, and all the possibilities inherent within. Their cooperation would bolster their efforts. Augustus grew ever more masterful of mana and learned to use it to even accomplish impossible things such as utilizing mana to force the universe to change by forcing the invocation of the law of consistency and breaking what few laws of conservation existed through the act of Holy Division. Hope meanwhile learned to look beyond the monolithic lens of hope and experience the other emotions that the Magician worked to invoke within it, Holy Division having opened up the possibility for the eldritch entity.


Light Is
The newborn gods continued to mold and add to reality, one among them grew fascinated by the light that filled the cosmos, whether it be the evertwisting kaleidoscope that filled the universe since near the beginning of the era to the inner light given by the prismatic spark. It sought to add even more to it. It sought to make light more than what it was. It spoke and was heard and the decree was echoed by others until the cosmos was utterly changed.

Light is motion. The god decreed that with every movement, light would paint a portrait on the world itself, an echo left behind of what came before. These portraits were not static images, but living memories, fading over time as the energy of motion dissipated. The greater the effort, the more profound the impact of the movement, the longer these echoes would linger, leaving a trail of light that told the story of what had transpired.

Light is emotion. The god saw that light could also be shaped by the feelings of those who experienced it. Great joy could paint vivid, radiant images, while deep sorrow could cast shadows that told tales of regret and loss. Each emotion became a brushstroke, each feeling a color in the grand tapestry of existence. Through light, emotions were given form, allowing the universe itself to resonate with the passions and pains of those who lived within it.

Light is all. The god understood that light was not limited to brightness alone. Even darkness, that deep roiling blackness that had once been the void, had a light of its own—a light defined not by the absence of illumination, but by its own inherent qualities. This darkness was now a living thing, with a light that was mysterious and profound, a counterpoint to the brilliance that filled the rest of the cosmos.

With these definitions, light became more than just an illuminator; it became a force that interacted with all aspects of reality, shaping the world through motion, emotion, and even in the spaces where it seemed absent. The universe was now a place where every movement, every feeling, every shadow had a light of its own, contributing to the ever-evolving portrait of existence.


Spark of Determination
A god looked to the future, at the powers and forces that were being gestated in the current age and realized that the life to come needed something to push them forward, to allow them to endure any force that was to come. It saw this force in the spark of determination. —a powerful force that would ignite within the souls of all beings, fueling their will to endure, to fight, and to overcome even the most daunting challenges.

Determination, once unleashed, became the anchor that kept souls bound to the world even after death. It was the fire that burned within the hearts of the living, driving them to face dangers and obstacles that might otherwise seem insurmountable. For those without magic, determination became their greatest weapon, giving them the strength to stand against those who wielded arcane power.

But the Spark of Determination was not limited to mere survival or resistance. In rare and extraordinary circumstances, it could empower individuals to perform feats that transcended the ordinary—acts that seemed to blur the line between the mundane and the magical. Though these feats were limited, often fleeting, they were moments of pure, unyielding will, where determination itself became a force as potent as any spell.

As the Spark of Determination spread throughout the universe, it became a cornerstone of existence, a force that ensured that no challenge was too great, no obstacle insurmountable. It was the drive to continue, to push forward, to fight for what mattered, even when all hope seemed lost.

The spark manifested strongly in the three living things that yet lived and were intelligent enough to understand. The Guardian, Hope, and Augustus were touched by the spark and found their wills bolstered ever further, allowing them to accomplish more than they could before. The Guardian saw its efforts to improve made even greater as Determination and Holy Division complimented each other massively, the Guardian's single minded efforts allowing it to push its form to greater heights, new forms emerging from its flesh. Not merely fleshy appendages but tools and weapons of all sorts.

Augustus would use Determination as its favored lever for working with mana, utilizing it to force mana into motion instead of the ad hoc mental exercises it used before. And Hope was inspired by it, as she came to a decision on what she wanted. Hope was anchored to this world by Augustus's hope. Thus Hope desired to make more like him, more being able to experience hope.

Box of Pandora
A god, with a mind for both the mysteries of existence and the inevitable yearning for eternal life, conceived of a vessel that would hold within it a power both alluring and perilous. Thus, the Box of Pandora was fashioned—an indestructible artifact, small and unassuming in appearance, yet inscribed with the ominous words: "IMMORTALITY AT A COST."

Inside the box lay a thousand diseases, each one more deadly than the last. These were not mere ailments; they were ever-changing, constantly mutating into forms more insidious and potent. The diseases within the box were a force of nature, a relentless tide of death waiting to be unleashed upon the world. But the box itself was a prison, containing these horrors until the moment when temptation would lead someone to open it.

The promise of the box was simple: immortality. To any who would dare to open it, the gift of eternal life would be granted. But this gift came with a price. The one who opened the Box of Pandora would become an immortal, yet they would also be cursed, forever an asymptomatic carrier of the thousand diseases contained within. Unseen and unfelt by the bearer, these diseases would spread to those around them, a silent plague that would follow them through eternity.

The box, however, held an even darker secret. If the one who opened it was already immortal, the box would not simply grant them further life. Instead, it would create an immortal clone of them—a duplicate, identical in every way, but burdened with the same curse. This clone, too, would be an asymptomatic carrier, spreading the diseases to all who crossed its path, ensuring that the price of immortality was always paid.

The creation of the Box of Pandora was a reminder to all who sought the power of eternal life that there were consequences for such desires. Immortality was not a simple blessing; it was a double-edged sword, offering endless life at the cost of endless suffering for those around them.


The Gravity Orb
A god, attuned to the latent potential within the void, reached out to create a new entity—a small, dense ball of gravity. This Gravity Orb, though unassuming in appearance, was imbued with a unique purpose. It was to be a catalyst of change, a force that would slowly, inexorably draw the scattered matter of the universe towards it.

Released into the cosmos, the Gravity Orb began its slow, drifting journey across the void. At first, its pull was gentle, barely noticeable, but as it traveled, it began to gather mass—dust, particles, and fragments of matter all drawn towards its ever-growing influence. With each new addition, the Gravity Orb's gravity intensified, its pull becoming stronger and more irresistible.

As the Gravity Orb continued its journey, it became a force of accumulation, slowly but steadily growing larger as it absorbed more and more of the universe's debris. Over time, what had begun as a simple, small orb of gravity transformed into something much greater. The Orb, now heavy with the gathered matter, would one day cease to grow, reaching a point of equilibrium where it had absorbed all it could.

When that moment came, the Gravity Orb would no longer be a mere ball of force—it would have become a planet, a new celestial body formed from the remnants of the cosmos. This planet, born of gravity's pull, would not remain stationary. It would continue to move slowly through the universe, carrying with it the story of its creation, a silent traveler on an endless journey through the nascent cosmos.


The Law of Secrets, Truths, and What Lies In Between
A god, perceiving the need for balance in the pursuit of knowledge, reached out to weave this law into the very fabric of existence. The universe, they decreed, would be a place where every secret had a corresponding truth, and for every truth, there would be a hidden secret. This delicate balance would be maintained by the cosmos itself, ensuring that no truth could be uncovered without effort, and no secret would remain hidden forever.

Under this law, secrets would remain veiled until the moment of their destined revelation. They would be mysteries waiting to be unraveled, challenges that required curiosity, persistence, and determination to uncover. Truths, on the other hand, would emerge when their time had come—when the conditions were right, and the seeker had journeyed far enough to earn their reward.

But the law did not stop at the dichotomy of secrets and truths. It also encompassed the in-between—the realm of lies, half-truths, fantasies, and the journey from secret to truth. This in-between was not merely a place of deception or illusion; it was the crucible where potential became reality. It represented the process, the adventure, the struggle to turn a secret into a truth, or a fantasy into a tangible outcome.

In this universe, everything held a truth that could be understood, but nothing could be grasped without effort. The pursuit of knowledge was a journey, one that required the seeker to engage with the world, to question, to experiment, and to challenge assumptions. This law embedded the scientific method into the very essence of reality, ensuring that knowledge was not just handed out, but earned through exploration and inquiry.

At the same time, the law acknowledged that every aspect of existence was shrouded in mystery. The universe was a puzzle, a labyrinth of secrets waiting to be uncovered, each step forward revealing new layers of complexity. The divine intervention of the gods could lift the veil, but for mortals and lesser beings, understanding required dedication, patience, and the willingness to venture into the unknown.

The in-between, the space where lies and half-truths dwelled, became a fertile ground for creativity and transformation. It was here that dreams could take shape, where potential could be realized, and where the impossible could become possible—if one was willing to pursue it far enough.

The veil of secrecy and mystery placed upon the world found itself most affecting Augustus and Hope as they quickly found that Augustus could no longer easily convey his knowledge to his friend, for knowledge can no longer be freely given, it must be sought after and journeyed and while Augustus could provide hints only the divine can provide direct knowledge. Augustus would intuit this quickly and would resort to turning his performances into educational ones, grand illusions and pranks that would force Hope to look into matters and reach her own conclusion about the universe. In truth Augustus found this method of transferring information much more entertaining than before even as Hope found herself frustrated by the fact that her own lacking intelligence in comparison to her friend meant that her goals became hampered.


Form the Four Main Elementals
First among them was the Primordial of Fire, a giant firefly of radiant energy. This creature's body pulsed with heat and light, its wings glowing with the intensity of a thousand suns. The Primordial of Fire was tasked with helping to form the stars, spreading warmth and light throughout the cosmos. It worked closely with the other elementals, particularly the Primordial of Earth, to generate the core of the world, producing magma and lava that would flow beneath the surface. This firefly was also the source of fire mana, imbuing the universe with the energy necessary for both creation and destruction, and ensuring that the world had the heat needed to sustain life.

Next came the Primordial of Air, a giant dragonfly with wings that shimmered like the sky at dawn. With each beat of its wings, it produced the oxygen and wind currents that flowed across the planet, essential for the breath of life. This dragonfly's presence was felt in every breeze, every gust of wind, as it supported life by providing the necessary gases for respiration and creating a protective layer around the world to shield it from the Sun's relentless heat. The Primordial of Air was also the guardian of air mana, weaving the invisible forces of the atmosphere into the fabric of existence, ensuring that life could thrive in harmony with the wind.

The Primordial of Water was formed next, a giant lobster with a body that shimmered with the blues and greens of the deepest oceans. From its claws, water flowed endlessly, creating the first clouds with the help of the Primordial of Air and forming the vast oceans that would cradle life. This lobster's influence extended to every drop of water, from the smallest stream to the mightiest ocean, providing the life-giving fluids necessary for growth and survival. The Primordial of Water also governed water mana, ensuring that this essential element was in abundance and that life could flourish in the watery depths it created.

Finally, there was the Primordial of Earth, a giant beetle with a carapace as strong and enduring as the mountains themselves. This beetle's slow, deliberate movements shaped the land, forming the earth, rock, and minerals needed for the world's foundation. It toiled ceaselessly, its massive legs carving out fertile lands where life could take root and grow. The Primordial of Earth was a protector of the world, its constant, slow movements ensuring that the earth remained stable and secure. It also created earth mana, infusing the soil with the energy needed for growth, stability, and endurance.

Together, these four elemental would begin the formation of a single world. The Beetle would assemble a world while the firefly would ignite its core. The Dragonfly would form an atmosphere and the Lobster would craft oceans and cycled it through the world. The firefly, greatest of the four, would also gain another duty in igniting the stars. It would fly through the empty cosmos and from its self ignite miniature balls of flame to fill the sky, infinitely less than the Sun, pale facsimiles, but stars all the same.


Land of Ice and Fire
One of the gods saw the world newly formed by the four elemental beasts and envisioned a location upon it —a place of extremes, where the forces of fire and ice would meet, shaping a realm unlike any other in existence. This was the Land of Ice and Fire.

In this land, two mighty volcanoes stood as sentinels, each embodying the dual nature of creation and destruction.

The first was a dark mountain, towering and foreboding, its peak hidden beneath clouds of ash. This volcano was a force of fire and metal, spewing forth rivers of molten metal that scorched the earth and filled the sky with burning ash. When it erupted, the land trembled with its fury, but from its devastation came great fertility. The ash it spread across the land was rich with minerals, seeding the soil with the nutrients needed for life to flourish. The molten metal cooled to form veins of precious minerals, turning the land into a treasure trove of riches. As the ages passed, the dark mountain grew ever taller, its slopes studded with the remnants of its fiery past, a testament to both the bounty and the destruction it had wrought.

The second was a bright white mountain, a cryovolcano that loomed in contrast to its dark counterpart. This mountain was a source of cold and life-giving water, its eruptions sending forth great torrents of frost and liquid air. When it erupted, the heat of the land was driven away, replaced by a chilling breath that brought life to the parched earth. Yet, with this gift came fierce storms and an unending winter, a harsh reminder of the mountain's power. The ice and snow that spewed from the white mountain slowly accumulated on its slopes, forming glacial walls that preserved the artifacts of ages long past. These icy slopes became a frozen repository of history, each layer of ice a chronicle of the world's journey through time.

Together, these two mountains defined the Land of Ice and Fire—a realm of contrasts, where the heat of the earth met the chill of the sky, where destruction and creation existed in a delicate balance. The land between them was a place of both peril and promise, where life thrived in the shadow of cataclysmic forces, and where the treasures of the earth were guarded by the relentless extremes of nature.


Event

The First Great Work
Late into this era would Hope and Augustus would encounter the world created by the Elemental Beasts. They saw the cycle of elements as set up by the Elementals and Augustus knew that it would be perfect for creating life as they desired. They saw the Land of Ice and Fire and was inspired further. This, they declared, would be the place where they would begin their work. A great work to create beings that Augustus could enlighten and entertain and Hope could inspire hope.

And yet they were not Gods, they could not simply will something as complex as life. Even their first experiments ended up being some slime that served as more avatars for Hope more than anything else. Instead they looked outward and saw the Guardian, in its ever shifting form standing sentinel over the sun and Augustus declared its flesh to be the ideal substrate.

Hope, ever optimistic, would go to the guardian and ask for a piece of its flesh. The guardian would refuse. Hope would cajole and try to work its magic onto the stalwart being but would find itself rebuffed every time and when Hope tried to force the issue found its avatar utterly destroyed as the Guardian showcased its prowess and might by not only destroying Hope's avatar but lashing out beyond even the Horizon and striking at Hope's true form. The cries of pain and agony from Hope echoes through the universe until the broken horizon was repaired. The entity would itself retreat from the Cosmos for a time as it tried to process the concept of pain and its own mortality. It would not return until the coming of the next Era.

Augustus in the meanwhile could only shake its head at the recklessness of its companion and while it had some sympathy could not fault the Guardian for its retaliation. No instead Augustus would approach the Guardian itself and give an exchange for its own tutelage for a fragment of its metamorphic flesh. The guardian, after some time would acquiesce. This pleased the Magician as for all that the Guardian did not derive entertainment from Agusustus's performance this meant that the Guardian was now actually paying attention from his performances.

Augustus would, after imparting all it knew, return to the world carrying with it a fragment of the Guardian's flesh. With its intuitive grasp of the workings of the universe it would work mana to reshape the flesh, rendering it down into a primordial ooze to begin his work. For it missed its friend and the only way to recall Hope from where it fled would be to create a new source of hope to draw its attention away from the pain.

The World at the end of the Prismatic Era
As the era ended the gods retreated and prepared themselves for the next labor to come. As they pulled back the great twisting of light began to subside, the great colors fading away into colorless and clear natural mana to reveal the world as it was for the first time, without the constant kaleidoscope veil of the gods obscuring it.

It is a great sphere, a solar system in size. It is filled with the a grand nebula of gas and clouds, all of it glittering in a kaleidoscope of dust. Small spheres of fire, the false stars of the Firefly flit about, embryonic stars ready to explode outward to their true size when the time finally comes and space is made for them.

The great monstrous form of the Guardian stands sentinel above the Sun, its great tentacles forming a great cage around the sun as it trillions of eyes look out at all directions, ready for any threat.

Orbiting the Sun is the embryonic world being formed by the gravity orb and the wold formed by the four elemental beasts. Upon this world is an ocean of primordial ooze, the workshop of Augustus the Amazing as it labored to create a creature capable of feeling hope.

Now comes the Second Era.

Theme - Places: Anything pertaining to the creation, modification, or destruction of a location.