Immured Titans

[Demonic Spoon]

♪​

You have lost.

See the vermin, still bleeding from battle-wounds and dressed in tattered battle-garb, idly holding broken weapons. See their faces filled with pathetic relief, or glowing with perfidious glee. Their numbers are less than they once were, as you inflicted a bloody toll for this betrayal, but still you lie broken and defeated at the feet of your children.

Words may have been spoken, but you cannot remember them through the daze, as grim or grieving or joyful smiths and butchers and doctors and sages and hunters and sculptors and architects and historians and lawyers go about the Great Work, the prison cell that can hold even titans. With immense care and precision are you flayed open, your most private inner organs studied with scholarly zeal, your very hierarchical structure toyed with like one might do to an ant colony. Slowly and meticulously, plans are drafted, intricate implements of most most terrible and awful intent are forged, and then.

And then.

And then the torture begins in earnest. For days. For weeks. For months. Time loses its meaning as you desperately flee inside yourself to escape the constant pain.

Hark back!

The titan that was slain in truth, even their name lost as their works vanish from sight and memory. All that is known is that there is a giant hole in the centre of all that is. Lodged immovably in that which is not is the greatest spear, humming without pause.

Hark back!

Warm and Bright Solaris! Slayer of Winter! Bringer of Summer! The most terrible and greatest of the Titans! Even as his siblings are subdued all around under his fiery gaze, he is undeterred. Even as his golden throne falls out from under him, he merely strides forth in valiance! Felemstok the Feathered burnt to nothing by gross incandescence! Verlana of the Rivers evaporated into non-existence! Forested Mercynlo ripped up by the roots and shredded by incensed demands and bellows! Sage Opritu scoured clean of thought and reason by the shredding of solar canine teeth! Tides upon tides of Sunspots swarming the broken lands, hounding down the so-called Fleet Footed Vyr like vermin! Loppu of Caves exploded from the inside! - vaporised - vaporised. - vaporised. vaporised. vaporised.vaporised.vaporised.vaporisedvaporisedvaporisedvaporisedvaporisedvaporisedvaporisedvaporvaporvaporvaporvaporvaporvaporVAPORIZED!

Solaris burns triumphant above the ruined battlefields of corpseless ash. Unbowed. Unbroken. Undaunted mountain. Unbridgeable abyss. Unreachable blinding light beating down on the vermin from on high. The rebellious spawn seemed set to be wiped in the middle of their grand coup. It was always folly to think they could defeat the very Titans who had broken open nothing and ripped themselves open to form all that is from seas of their own shining ichor.

Until a frigidly cold spike pierced into the very core of bright and burning Solaris.

Silence That Creeps From Glaciers surges from hiding in piece of shattered Night. Fresh, prepared and spiteful, they hit Solaris like an avalanche. On a distant hill, Bright-Light-Illuminates-The-Worthy watches with face twisted into an hideous mask of glee and grief as the exhausted sun was entombed in ice, frozen tongue ripped out by the finally avenged Silence That Creeps From Glaciers.

Hark back!

Visavra the Birdsmith, with only half a body from the enraged lashing and castigation of Ca-E-Le-Rhun, resting on a newly birthed mountain. There they meet Nila, rainy-haired, stormy-eyed, daughter of Thunder. Blood bubbling from her lips, Visavra entrusts the great golden spear to Nila lest the Titans be victorious. The Lightning Lord had fallen too, as the roads caved in all around him in his many selves, scattered and blown everywhere by the four winds. Nila marched with purpose. Guided by her dread weapon, she flits through shattered space and hunts down every fragment of her father, piercing him without mercy or hesitation, again and again and again.

Hark back!

Under the assault of many deities and strangely empowered mortals, with a dazzling display of weapons, was Ca-E-Le-Rhun maimed and battered, a persistent rain of cruel blows. In return the titan fells dozens and dozens more in desperation, crushing more than a hundred of the finest flowers of the age into a fine paste under hammers of gravity. Until ultimately the two Heavens collapse and rejoin with the earth in a cataclysmic impact! Cities wiped out, mountains flattened, rivers jumping around wildly, seas shifting and space tangled and twisted under its own crumpled weight.

Hark back!

Visavra the Birdsmith proffers stolen stellar spear to The Joyous Potential Of Infinity. Reforged into a weapon as had never been made, that could cause the collapse of the very heavens. The Joyous Potential Of Infinity the first to fall under its cruel tip, chained to produce even more weapons. The children of The Joyous Potential Of Infinity took great pleasure in parental torment, until their painful deaths.

Hark back!

The heedless Twins of Love and War called down. Tricked! Trapped! Bound to themselves in ruthless efficiency and pragmatism. Priests and daughters perverting their very natures as they become one. Love//War's most precious stellar spear stolen away by greedy hands, even as identity blurs and self devours self repeatedly in one mind.

Hark back!

Secure in their rule the Titans let loose in wanton excess! More sacrifices and yet more and more! Punishment and smiting and ever more suffocating restriction and commandment piled and piled. A blind eye for the activities of their many children as they forged strange weapons and cavorted with priesthoods.

Hark back!

The great golden treasure of the Titans, the accumulation of all their labours and blood, the world entire, all that is, splendiferous and wondrous. Like the golden Solaris their reign destined for an endless zenith...

...

Awaken!

See your prison! See your world! All around, up and down, forward and back, left and right, the flayed skin and carved bones of the Thunder and of the Rain quivers and trembles and keens! There hangs chained the All-Searing Light, glaring at all, expectant of the next betrayal! Under his burning gaze writhes the impaled, spiteful, quite mad, whirlpool of The Unending Blight Upon Existence! See the canals of corruption crawling from its periphery, constantly dying and being born anew!

Academically acknowledge that the Spire of Ca-E-Rhun and the Twin Constellations of Love and War are somewhere in the vicinity of the blinding, hateful, red light of the Red Sun. See muses and companions gracefully flittering around like the most beautiful and deadly of mosquitoes, stopping at key locations to draw out the ichor of the titans, storing it away carefully to be deposited.

See the rotting, putrid, right hand of Ca-E-Rhun consistently and continuously pushing downward, right at the center of The Unending Blight Upon Existence, in a process that is highly unpleasant for all involved. You are all eternally tumbling down and down and down. Batwinged demons hop around miserably upon the continental hand.

Immerse yourself fully in the growing feeling of pressure. Pressing down on you, bit by bit, not letting up by even the smallest fraction. Diagrams flash across your oversouls, of a fragilely reconstructed sky, supported by an infinite pillar. By you. The strain is still somewhat bearable for now, but soon you will begin to suffer actual harm under the burden.

Ca-E-Rhun feels someone attempting to summon one of his tertiary bat-demons, an insistent tugging at his sleeves by an ill-behaved brat.

Grieve. Rage. Seethe. Plot. But above all, act.

((Hi! Hope you are doing well! Please try to get your actions in within the next four days: Mar 5, 2022 at 3:00 PM. If you can't make that, for whatever reason, then clearly ask for an extension, so that I can know what's up. Thanks! ))

@triumph8w @6 ZeV Proton @Kadmus @NSMS @Logos

Spoiler: Titans

Muor, The Lightning Lord, The Thunder and the Rain
Pillars: Rain, Thunder
Potency: 6/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 11/20 [+0/t]
Walls

Ca-E-Rhun, the Fallen Firmament, the Second Sky
Pillars: Thresholds, Gravity
Potency: 6/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 11/20 [+0/t]
Energy

Solaris, The Red Sun, The All-Searing Light
Pillars: Light, Heat
Potency: 6/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 11/20 [+0/t]
Surveillance

The Unending Blight Upon Existence
Pillars: Destruction, Corruption
Potency: 6/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 11/20 [+0/t]
Enforcement

The Twins Exalted Above and Below
Pillars: Love, War
Potency: 6/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 11/20 [+0/t]
Tributary

Spoiler: Example Action Post

Example striding eternally forward into Glory starts with 20 ichor due to nepotism.

Example striding eternally forward into Glory idly bleeds eight ichor from her fingertips, moulding it into a great desert with her fiery gaze. Tapping her fire pillar, it is set on fire, and becomes half melted, though she could have created it that way to begin with if she wanted.

Spoiler: Desert Region

Name: Glass Desert
Neighbors: n/a
Traits:
+ Lots of glass!
+/- Hot
- On fire
Description: A great, arid, lifeless desert of examplehood

Wanting to be glorified, Example striding eternally forward into Glory spends 2 ichor tugging off bits of her solar flames before weaving them into complex metaphysical constructs. Souls flutter weakly in one of her palms, awaiting hosts.

Finally, Example striding eternally forward into Glory infuses 3 ichor into the glass of the Glass Desert, blowing various lumps into vaguely humanoid forms, before planting souls inside them. A city's worth of Glasslings are born! She also spends 2 Potency to hide this action from other titans under a definitely not suspicious sandstorm.

Spoiler

Name: Glasslings
Free-Will Level: Taboos
Traits:
+ Very hard to see due to being transparent
+ Can survive on a diet of sand
- Being made of glass, the glasslings are incredibly fragile
Description: Mortals made of living glass. They are incapable of even conceiving the thought of wearing any armour. They reproduce by gathering aesthetically pleasing lumps of glass and throwing them into one of the always burning fires of the Glass Desert!

Satisfied with a job well done Example striding eternally forward into Glory rests.

 

[Demonic Spoon]

♪​

The Red Sun twists against the Chains, and his Red rains down unto the clouds, dyeing them. Clots expand as they suck in the surrounding moisture and begin to clump together. The early shape of the Seared Steppe takes form. Then it bakes into a slab of flat, cracked, parched gray earth under the furious glaring of the Red Sun, muggy and blisteringly hot, pools of still molten solar blood burning happily here and there in the landscape. Occasionally everything quakes as lightning and thunder lash out with maddened pain beneath. It is a harsh land, from a harsh maker, but it is land.

Ca-E-Rhun screams in indignance, blindly grasping at the trajectories of souls and mortals yet to be, bending and warping and condensing the slow blurry fade to oblivion that once may have been. Ca-E-Rhun bleeds from between fingers cut by immaterial razor-wire, but pays no heed. Ca-E-Rhun hears the whip-crack of the solipsist sky-road settling into place, a dimly visible river arching across the sky, fraying and fraying into fractal invisibility at its ends. Ca-E-Rhun feels how the massive soul-trap eagerly snuffles for the dead along the threshold, how the peak of the sky-road vibrates with waiting gravity to crash the dead back into another life of suffering, so that none can escape sharing in the misery of the Second Sky.

Grazing starstuff from the Constellations hidden behind angry Red, the Muses of Love and the Muses of War release a tyrannical rain of comets crashing down onto the grey plains of the Seared Steppe. A cloud of fine dust rises to choke at the air, the Twins most Exalted making war and love against the land itself. Some of the dust currents combusts under the searching stare of the All-Searing Light, but does not reveal its secrets, if any.

Spoiler: Beneath the Third Sky

Under the protective covering of grey ash do the Muses and Companions go about their true work, encouraging the continuously dropping star-stuff into new life. Each star-spark is clad in a coating of gray ash by deft hands, to make a new Unkindled, echoes of echoes. Beings who appear to most observations to be actual real people, but are in fact soulless husks.

Leaving their Sisters to their grisly work, many of the Companions instead start to carve out great holes and tunnels into the Seared Steppe with lances of bright energy. The ashy loess is vaporized with ease, they open passages winding downwards in gentle spirals. Drawing knowledge of military fortifications and sapping buried in the back of their own faux-mortal minds, the Companions create elaborate tunnel systems and ingenious magma forges.

Then the hard-working tertiaries begin herding various groups of Unkindled underground, and oh so very kindly instruct and lecture crowds of apparently studious and attentive Unkindled. They are taught the specifics of forging mining tools from provided metals, and of how to use mining tools to mine for more metal. The Unkindled listen and nod frantically, adequately simulating understanding, while knowing and understanding nothing.

Overall, the Twins who are Exalted Below succeed in their efforts to advance the Unkindled to a stage where they are capable of entertaining war-mongering. Unkindled clumsily mine in wildly zig-zagging tunnels, usually with copper pickaxes, but sometimes stone or ceramic, smiths forge more shovels and axes and spear-tips, but sometimes also squiggly lumps with no actual purpose, or attempt to create tools and metal using normal rocks instead of ores. Quality and workmanship is quite varied and generally poor, but acceptable.

But an initial lack of skill is something real people would suffer from as well, and eventually the Unkindled grow, if not competent, then the seeming of competence in their divinely ordained tasks, the lot assigned to them by the Companions of War and the Companions of Love. Irregularities become more irregular, cave-ins less likely, forges flooded by overflowing magma almost stopping entirely.

And then the titanic Twins let overflow from themselves their constantly surging Pillar of War. Even simulacrums of mortals cannot help but be effected by the raw aggression, belligerence and desire for large-scale organized conflict turning the suffocating, hot and humid air somehow even more burning. Gangs form spontaneously around slightly bigger and more mean looking Unkindled, who shove aside other Unkindled to get the non-ceramic shovels.

Low-level bullying continues, until at last, two of the several isolated Unkindled chthonic gangs finally meet. One mining tunnel breaks into another. The intruding Unkindled Miners, perhaps not realizing in time that weren't hitting more rocks, caved in the heads of several of the other Unkindled with their picks. Their hands glow orange with ember-blood, and the survivors stare at the first Unkindled murderers uncomprehendingly, as they stared at everything.

The nearby Companion of Love, waiting, appeared abruptly, and taught the first Unkindled murderers of Love, and of Ignition. How they should love those they have killed, and use them as kindling to light a new Love, a new Life. The Unkindled nodded solemnly in pretended understanding, mumbling some singsong nonsense-words in their seemingly real, yet quite meaningless, language.

The Murderers suddenly struck down yet more of the other miners, who attacked back. Some began ripping off their ashen skin to form balls and cubes. A slaughter began. One Unkindled hiding at the side, stole a disintegrating corpse from the bloody tunnel intersection, and dragged it to a quiet cul-de-sac. There he took out the still faintly glowing heart, and wrapped it in a bundle of his own crumbly white hair. A blazing white spear of stellar brilliance incinerated the blasphemer into an even more ashy form, a puff of ash drifting down. At least three Unkindled tried to kill themselves as their second required murder victim. They failed to procreate, being dead.

But finally a handful of survivors managed to fashion crude bodies from their own flesh, quickly recovering, and the scattered ash of their victims. Their feverishly working hands covered in ember blood setting their creations afire.

And thus were Ignited the first Kindled.

The Kindled of Fire and Ash spoke the language of firstborn things, and the surrounding Unkindled eagerly imitated their children to perfection. The Kindled learnt of how they were born, their parents, and thanked them and the Twins for their existence. They did not realize that the Unkindled are unthinking automata, for their eyes are blinded by their Flames and by their Love.

And then the group, briefly united, divided to return to their homes. To plot war, now that they were capable of plotting, for the Pillar of War still thrummed strongly. The Kindled assumed positions of leadership over their forge-tribes as if only natural. Indeed it was natural, for only they were capable of thinking and ambition, and they were so much more luminescent and dynamic. The Unkindled naturally deferred to their Kindled, and eagerly supported them as they were formed into a rag-tag mob, and led to their deaths against their opposites.

Unkindled and Kindled fought into a grinding ashy stalemate. The Kindled took what they had learned to reproduce Unkindled in great numbers by dripping ember blood in ashen puppets without the Rite of Ignition, and using those to wage war to Ignite more Kindled. A great self-perpetuating cycle, causing the warring parties to expand, radiating exploratory tunnels everywhere for more metal and more coal and more ash and more lava.

Inevitably, the two expanding army-states encountered more Unkindled settlements. Some were enlisted as allies, or discorporated to the last Unkindling for ash and ember-blood and Kindling. Others simply joined up with the new groups, not understanding group identities, or copied the strange actions of the foreign invaders and created their own Kindlings, adding yet more groups to the bubbling internecine warfare.

A snarl of complex battle and counter-battle, tunnel digging and collapse, the first appearances of primitive shields, continued to embroil all Ashen attention. But the conflict was incrementally slowing down, as resource crunch set in. Even the hardy and ascetic Unkindled could not replenish themselves endlessly, and appropriate ashes were running out, most used up in making more and more soldiers.

Many Companions, suddenly visible, smiled secret smiles. The Unkindled did not understand but glared suspiciously, the Kindled also did not understand, but for different reasons, and also eyed the strange beings with confusion.

Exalted Above, their Sisters had long ceased making new Unkindled, but the showers of stars continued. Carved and kissed and spread into many different shapes, from the tiniest microbe to the largest towering tree. The humblest ant-colony and the largest mega-jaguar all born from stars.

A Green Hell was attempting to spread across the Seared Steppe. But was too fierce in its unthinking war, choking its own growth for the sake of choking, instead of for an evolutionary edge. Newly born ants murdering their queens and devouring their brood, jaguars devouring potential mates before any actual mating, monkeys pushing birds' nests from towering iron-trees without even eating the eggs.

If the air of the Seared Steppe is a thick, boiling soup before, charged with Heat and War, it now becomes metaphorical plasma, making each breath a struggle against overloaded emotion, thought, concept and temperature. For Muses flagrantly hold hands and everything begins to pulse with the Pillar of Love, Twin of War.

The trunks of pygmy elephants flail wildly as their senses and sense are overloaded, ramming into tree in an attempt to fix whatever broke reality. Confused termite nuptial flights fill the air with buzzing swarms out of season, competing with clouds of clinging pollen. Every living seems confused and yet excited, and yet ornery. And then the iron trees begin exploding, spreading devastation all around them, but also shooting their seeds far and wide.

The Green Hell frantically expands itself, growing outwards, culling the unfit, cratered grey earth with plantlife vigorous enough to thrive under a continuous dust layer, supplementing their energy needs by growing roots into pockets of magma or sprouting around lava-lakes. And all the while the Muses constantly make new additions.

Shift. Back in the Exalted Beneath, various battles sputter to a stop as Kindlings grapple with suddenly rising affection and respect for Ashlings they had been fighting desperately to kill moments before. Around them, battles between the Unkindled continued on, before noticing that their leaders had stopped, quickly following suit.

Love warred with War, even as War loved Love. Romance blooming on the battlefield, allegiances redrawn. Kindled and Unkindled re-organize themselves, no longer according to lineage, but by friendships and comraderie. Brother fighting against brother, father against child.

And then the magma crocodiles attack, and caverns are suddenly filled with roots growing with rapid violence and herds of pygmy elephants stampede in from long-forgotten tunnels to the surface. Suddenly a war between Ashlings is replaced by a war against the environment which they are losing, Kindled desperately leading their armies to drive back the monsters and plants that had started hunting them.

---

Tartarian Explorations​

(Muor: (5,6,2)13-1)
(Unending Blight Upon Existence: (3,2,6)11-2)

Like a tongue insistently prodding at the empty spot where was a tooth, each prod a spike of pain, does Muor begin to flex and squirm their maimed body. Agony courses like blood as clouds rumble and sprites flitter to and fro. Scenting through the constant of ozone for deeper mysteries and clues. You can feel the hotspots where the chains of Solaris is buried deep inside your swirling vortices. The constant downwards pushing of the Right Hands of the Heavens, stretching your infinite height thinner. You can feel brandings and stable instabilities and soul nails and strange scars keeping you static and enduring as the Sky presses down on you like jagged shards of broken glass. Slight pinpricks tingle throughout you as some storms taste the tangy Muses and Companions chewing away at their vital lightning ichors, the tributary carrying out grim duties.

You can dimly see thunderheads being parted and devoured slightly. A new set of corruption-filled canals surges forth from the Unending Blight Upon Existence, even as the old ones are inevitably sucked back in by its eternal pull. Krakens and Wisps scatter outwards at their own behest, ugly things chattering in grating buzzings screeches.

The Unending Blight Upon Existence intimately feels the Right Hand of Ca-E-Rhun pressing into itself, every moment of the eternal day of their accursed prison of their own flesh. The touch revolts the Unending Blight Upon Existence, as does all things, but even more so. The Unending Blight Upon Existence sends itself forth to scout out the world made of itself and its siblings. Its krakens see the new land made by the Red Sun, and it sees the secret things the Twins do there, their schemes and plots. It feels intimately as the dying Right Hand of Ca-E-Rhun squirms in phantom sympathy of the activity of the Left.

It maps out the indefinitely vast prison made of cloud and thunder, understands and resents the exquisite craftmanship and architecture of the vermin, who created a definitely bounded space, but made sure the titans could never overfill it without killing themselves. The Unending Blight Upon Existence amazes itself that the inside of flayed Muor has been made concretely larger than the theoretically infinite All That Is. All it cost was turning a titan inside out.

And when the Thunder and the Rain buckles and shakes slightly... there! A flicker? Wisps race to investigate the anomaly, before it resolves itself into an ethereal tube made of teeth. The tube snakes down and swallows one of the wing-bound batlings hopping around on Gravity's Right Hand. Then it vanishes, but there are strange traces, which taste of persimmons and winter. Kraken tentacles attempts to interact with them, but poke at nothing. A series of horizontal ladder-like rungs without poles flash, and then the hapless Gatekeeper of Ca-E-Rhun is back. There is definitely something to probe deeper into here, perhaps.

---

Time Catches up with Gravity
​

The burning dust clouds over the Seared Steppe clear. Under your close observation, oh Solaris, it is revealed that the Twins Exalted Above have created a vibrant, competitive, co-operative web of life polluting the clean slate you had bled to create with constant motion and growth and change. The Seared Steppe is now a steppe in name only, filled with lush jungles and kaleidoscopical creatures.

Here and there the landscape is dotted with odd, giant grey ant-hills, though you have yet to actually seen any of the giant ants the presumably inhabit the hills. Perhaps they are shy? Several of your lava-lakes appear to have dried up or been drained away somehow. Most concerningly, souls have begun to flow into the Sky-Road from somewhere! You can feel your soul-spikes tingle at that observation.

Oh Ca-E-Rhun who divides Above from Beneath by your Threshold, you have yet to hear any wails of reincarnated souls. Even though souls are indeed being reincarnated, you think. Your Ports note that there seems to be a slight oddity in the functioning of the Sky-Soul-Road-River though, but are not sure what it is exactly.

Your summoned self returns, spreading disgruntlement through your Oversoul, having shared a mystic ritual with certain vermin.

Muor and The Unending Blight Upon Existence feel tuggings on strings they didn't realize were there, as the vermin attempt to summon several of their tertiary forms.

Lord of Lightning, you hear and feel and smell metallic roots snake from the bottom of the Seared Steppe, and fish and angle for your lightning-eels, empowering the blasphemous trees who would seek to eat parts of a Titan. Instinctively, you summon forth a hurricane to destroy anything looking even vaguely like the offending arbors, uprooting them with fierce winds, and chewing them to bits with biting hail, leaving a lifeless gash across the Seared Stepped.

Somehow, the sky seems to only be growing heavier the longer you endure. You only barely maintain yourself under the collective strain, but feel like ichor loss from celestial damage is imminent.

Spoiler: Behold ye, O Love, Behold ye, O War

Companions wander curiously among your mortals, feeding information into you. Ashling factions remain fluid and dynamic, but have expanded and roughly stabilized into three city-states, dug out around great Forge-Complexes, fighting against and logging metallic trees for purified metals. Their population seems to currently be stable, neither declining nor increasing notably. Ashlings tend to be short-lived due to earthquakes and needing to constantly fight against the Green Hell.

As compelled by their biology, the Ashlings largely avoid the surface, and struggle to expand further underground, needing to fight metal roots and floral poisoning attempts.

The City-State of Under-Sky-Fire, following the roots of the certain blasphemous trees, have dug tunnels deep enough to pierce the bottom of the Searing Steppe. Kindlings often meditate there on the mysteries of a sunless sky and lightning. The City-State of Tamed-Rage have begun domesticating pygmy elephants, who greatly enjoy devouring tree roots, and do so with ease and speed. Though the pygmy elephants often outwit the Unkindled and run wild for a time. The City-State of Love-War has been forming a primitive mythos around dimly recalled oral histories of Unkindled Creation at the hands of the Muses, and the constant interference of the Companions, in their development.

Kindlings have begun to be born even during Bodymakers shapings of new Unkindleds, to the puzzlement of many, as reincarnations begin to cycle in, but less than might be expected. Certainly less than ninety-five out of a hundred deceased Kindlings.

There is in total a city's worth of Kindlings, who have a vague reverence for the Twins, and respect and apprehension for the legends of overpowering Love and War that had swept through their ancestors in Rumblings past. Enough for a trickle of ichor, which the vermin seem not to have picked up on yet.

Kindlings suffer from memory loss, paranoia and inexplicable rages for unknown reasons. Several Kindlings in close proximity suffer less, which has led to them often operating in group units of three to eight.

((The Unkindled // The Kindled sometimes collectively referred to as Ashlings. Kindled collectively mostly Kindlings because Kindleds sounds weird, though I did use Unkindleds.))

(((Soulbius strip?) = Sky-Road-Soul-River thing but feel free to refer to it as whatever.))

((Thank you everyone for your excellent actions! Please try to get your next actions in within the next four days: Mar 12, 2022 at 5:00 PM. If you can't make that, for whatever reason, then clearly ask for an extension, so that I can know what's up. Thanks! Please point out potential errors. I did double-check, but they always slip through somehow.))

@triumph8w @6 ZeV Proton @Kadmus @NSMS @Logos

Spoiler: Expenditure Tracking (OOC)

Solaris: -8 Ichor(Create Region)
Muor: -1 Potency(Prison Familiarization), -1 Potency(Smiting)
Ca-E-Rhun: -8 Ichor (Re-Incarnation)
Unending Blight: -2 Potency (Prison Scouting), -4 Potency (???), -7 Ichor (???)
Twins: -3 Ichor (Soul-Rite), -3 Potency (Hiding ???), -6 Ichor (???), -3 Potency(Various fuckery, not particularly concealed, but not inherently visible either)

Spoiler: Titans

Muor, The Lightning Lord, The Thunder and the Rain
Pillars: Rain, Thunder
Potency: 7/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 11/20 [+0/t]
Walls

Ca-E-Rhun, the Fallen Firmament, the Second Sky
Pillars: Thresholds, Gravity
Potency: 9/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 3/20 [+0/t]
Energy

Solaris, The Red Sun, The All-Searing Light
Pillars: Light, Heat
Potency: 9/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 3/20 [+0/t]
Surveillance

The Unending Blight Upon Existence
Pillars: Destruction, Corruption
Potency: 3/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 4/20 [+0/t]
Enforcement

The Twins Exalted Above and Below
Pillars: Love, War
Potency: 3/12 [+3/t]
Ichor: 3/20 [+1/t]
Tributary

Spoiler: Example Action Post, the Continuation

Example striding eternally forward into Glory, having spent a lot of ichor and feeling rather woozy, falls into a deep slumber while waiting for people to glorify her sufficiently that she feels up to getting up again.