One Week Old: Seven Days After Creation

[I'm A Banana]

What follows is the story hour from my main campaign, where the PC's are some of the first creatures ever created. Existence began a week ago, and the gods had special hands in the PC's birth, shepherding each to genisis...this is the story of the First People, of the Definers. This is a tale of definition, of filling in the details the gods left blank. This is the tale of the first heroes: The Godtouched.
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Ah...yes....why.... said the sphinx. It preened briefly, pondering. Why? Such a simple question, really....why does one live? Why die? What did we come from, and where shall we go? Truly, only the God of the Scorpion knows, contained somewhere in his vast tomes...or perhaps even he has forgotten...
Ah, yes, the question. Why? Well, young buck, allow me to tell you a story, about a time long ago....about the first time, the longest ago....few remember it today. It is a sad story, though it has moments of joy. It is the truth, do not be decieved; there are many in the world who would lie to you for their own goals. But today, you will hear the truth. You may be able to find from it some reason, perhaps, some rhyme as to how things came to be, and how they will all some day end. And end it will, make you no doubt. Not today, perhaps, but soon...and maybe forever....
But that is a tale yet to be concieved -- I only see things in the past, though I see them perfectly. That is, after all, my gift, from the God of my Birth, the God of the Scorpion. To tell the truth, documented eternally in my memory....Why?
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In the beginning, it began.

It continued to be, and, as time ticked by, the Forge God was generated. Surely, this was after the Planes in all their vastness, and things existed before him. Yet before the Forge God, the God of the Crab, there was nothing here. No light, or darkness, or up, or down, or there, or not there, or being, or not being. There was only the forge god; and then there was the forge. And then the metal, and then the hammer.

And then, the world was forged.

In steam and spark, with resounding blows, the God of the Crab built existence, and built lords of it. The other Eleven were created, and given equal slices of time in which to create, and the year was made. With spark and darkness, it was further divided -- weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds, and less were divided by the God of the Scorpion, meted out by the dropping of sand.

From the sparks struck from the metal of the world, Life was created, shaped around it, and allowed to continue. Each deity was taught the trade, and, as the world was forged, and the spark-stars flew into the forge, beings were forged to the whims of the deities.

One of the first creatures created was the Haze.

 

[I'm A Banana]

Foggy & Momma


Out of the sparks, The God of the Centaur created life. He was not the first, nor was he the last, but his fate was the one chosen to bear one of the definers. He created a race who relied not on vision, but on mental sensory powers, who could see 100 ft., but not beyond, who sipped their meals as a liquid. Because of this race's power to go unnoticed in mist, he named them the Haze, and the first one was called Foggy, a creature of bright blue bands and eyespots, whose gaudy color he could not see. The God of the Centaur made a multitude of Haze, and set them down in his own land, the Forest, as hunters and drinkers of the blood of those who came before. There, Foggy was given his True Name, and told to hold it close, and never disclose it.

Foggy was created by a deity, but he was flawed. Deeply religious and profoundly stupid, the dichotomy adhered him to the worship of the God of the Fish, who bestowed upon him powers for his faith. His own god, the God of the Centaur, went thanked, but largely ignored, save for the boons that Foggy was granted -- stealth, speed, and intuition. He was perceptive, but dim; dim enough to require an advisor, a servant for his kingdom of the blind, a noble warrior named Blur. He would prove a valuable ally in the days to come...

Foggy had one week to establish his role, one week to ascertain his pride, one week to demonstrate his leadership as a Godtouched....and then, the Thirteenth visited him....
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In the same land, on that same day, The God of the Water was creating life from sparks himself....he would create a race that needed his gifts most, a large, domineering people whose need for healing would be great, and whose nature of violence would provide an interesting challenge for his faithful to overcome.

He named them the Bugbears, and his first one, perhaps his ugliest and strongest, was nammed Momma. She was his masterpiece, crafted to teach her children to heal, to disregard peace, and to enjoy violence. She was given her True Name, and told never to disclose it.

Momma was not without her challengers, however. A particular bugbear, thin, wiry, weaker than the others, called Yantzee by his peers, was in particular desiring of power. He would compliment Momma, serve Momma loyally, and give Momma all the things she liked....so that she could protect him, and he would be the most powerful creature in the tribe....

One week was all she had, to establish her dominance. One week, and her being was changed. One week, and Yantzee could have the chance to take charge...

 

[I'm A Banana]

Gandol & Twinkie


That first day, still rich with the sparks of life, held many more generations, many more definitions...

In the heady rush of the First Day, the Gods of the Twins, eager with the devoutness recieved from the Haze, created a race for the God of the Centaur -- a race of simian people, quick, nimble, and wise in the ways of the wood. He called them the Vanara, and the first one in particular took to the worship of The God of the Centaur very quickly. His name was Gandol, his true name was hidden, granted priestly powers by the God of the Centaur, and leadership by the Gods of the Twins. His race was created weaker than him, for he wished to be permanently in charge of them, forever dominating them, and eagerly enjoying all the tribe's women. His power would not be siezed, and no civilization would be founded in his name...the Wilds were his true home, and would be his peoples', forever.

In one week, he would leave his true home, and bring civilization crashing down upon him...
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On the First Day, The Goddess of the Ram created pixies.

Eager to find servants who shared her outlook, she created them to be carefree and energetic, tricky, elusive, and free. She bestowed upon them the secrets of drugs, and told them to be merry with them...they would never suffer addiction or withdrawl like otherse, merely enjoyment. The first pixie, Twinkie as she was called, her True Name hidden, was the definer of this way of life, and lived peacefully and gracefully....

....for one week...and then, tragedy...
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On the First Day, the Outside came.....

 

[I'm A Banana]

Kla'zir'tho


"You summoned me, Teacher?"

Kla'zir'tho shuddered at the sound of his own name, echoing through the cavernous monestary hall. Master Imon'ik'zer was watching. He shouldn't be timid. But he couldn't help it. Perhaps finally, after helping man the battlements at the recent battle with the slaad, he'd get the recognition he so richly deserved. Twelve years, had he served under Imon'ik'zer, ever since finding his way here through the soup of Limbo, remarkably uncovering the Githzerai monestary instead of a slaad hunting party. He was joyful, that day, and it was his last day of joy for twelve hard, unforgiving years. He was now a monk, one of the best in the school, though the school was for novices. Twelve years, and he hadn't advanced in rank once. Twelve loyal years, and he could not solve the riddles presented to him. It was his final requirement. It was said often of him that his physical power had exceeded his mental acuity...and that annoyed him...a lot...he longed to prove them wrong.

"Yes, Kla'zir, please, enter."

The aged voice spoke with a power, and Kla'zir'tho, twelfth-year first-rank, responded with fear. He entered, attempting bravery, shuffling his feet.

"It is your thirteenth year soon, is it not?"

"Yes sir...in one week, sir..."

"One week....and you have not been created..."

"Sir?"

"I want you to go, Kla'zir. Leave this place."

"Yessir, I shall leave you in peace."

"No, student, not in peace, I meant leave. Leave this room, leave this building, leave this monestary, leave this plane. And do not return."

"Sir? Sir, please, have mercy! I have been trying so hard..."

"Thirteen years, Kla'zir, have I taught you, and you have learned nothing. Begone."

"Sir, please, no! You can't do this! You can't throw me out there, into the soup, with nothing."

"I have already given you thirteen years of my life, student, and that is more than I have spent with even the slowest. But I will not loose you with nothing. I will give you one thing. A key back into this monestary, and into the tradition of the Githzerai again. Answer for me one question, and you will be welcomed back: Tell me, student. Tell me how one can have freedom as a slave. Tell me, and you will be increased in rank."

"But...but....it is impossible, Teacher. There is no freedom as a slave!"

"Leave me, Kla'zir."

"Teacher, please, be reasonable."

"Leave me now, student, lest I call the guard and have you evicted. You are trespassing, now."

"Teacher!"

"Guards!"

Instantly, the double doors behind him swung open, revealing a sliver of light from the hallway that fell accross his monk's garmant. Two guards, higher rank than he, seized him, and started dragging him away. He didn't struggle, or protest, other than mubling "teacher....teacher..." in shock. He let himself be dragged out of the room, out of the monestary, out of the settlement, and into the soup. As the doors shut in front of him, he felt the heavy clank of their gears deep in his soul...

...his life had changed. Kla'zir'tho was an excile.

 

[I'm A Banana]

The Outsider's In


The first thing Kla'zir'tho noticed about Sigil was the smog. He coughed roughly and violently as he stepped out of the portal and onto the slick cobblestones, supporting himself with the edge of a disheveled-looking building.

....a free slave....

Kla'zir stumbled slightly, trying to get a clear breath, and largely failing. He heaved, and stepped forward, and looked up from the ground.

He was at an intersection, emerging from an alley onto a busy main throughfare. It was high afternoon here, and the Market Ward was crowded with tents and awnings hawking every type of ware one could think of, and several that almost no one would want to think of. The brazen sale of drugs, sex, and temptation screamed at his austeric's sense of decency, as the soot screamed into his lungs. The ruckus was unbearable, so he quickly turned from it, ducking under a door, into a small bar.

The air was worse in here, but it smelled of something more than soot -- a spicy, hot aroma that saturated his yellow-green skin, made him pull back his lips and bear his fangs.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, sliding from darkvision into his normal sight, Kla'zir saw that he was ignored. Another traveler amongst the crowd, no one was looking at him now. He was just another githzerai in brown robes, only worth the value he can provide to others.

Taking a coin out of his pocket and setting it on the bar, he ordered water. The bartender gave him a cup, filled it with a rust-red fluid, and bade him drink. It didn't taste like water.

The patrons were shadowy in the smoky light, each lost in their drink, as the smoke seperated them from the prying eyes of their peers. It was silent, save for the click of class, and the low voices of the serving girls talking in the corner. To Kla'zir's mind, they were all debating the nature of servitude...he had spent six days wandering Limbo, and now he was here, in the City of Doors, to seek his fortune or to puzzle out the riddle, whichever came first.

The bartender slapped thirteen pieces of copper down on the countertop, and barked "change." Kla'zir slid them into his pocket, and wished he could...to change, to become different...it would be the only way he'd survive apart from his pattern...

He downed the rusty fluid, and turned to leave, throwing his cloak over his back, and his hood over his eyes. As he passed by the door, he felt a tingle, heard a distant woosh, and his un-shoed foot felt grass, not stone.

He blinked in the sudden light. It was high noon here, too...but verdant...no longer did Sigil's leering architecture stare at him...now, the looming branches of gigantic pines were the culprits. He was standing in a clearing, and could see a blue sky above, dappled with white-and-gray clouds that trekked silently accross, pushed by the gentle breeze.

In front of him was a collection of tents, basking in the sunlight. Kla'zir'tho gawked at them, and at the beings in front of them -- swarthy humans, adorned with animal furs. They gaped at him, two males, in awe...

"He...hello?" he tried

"You just walked out of thin air..." they said, reaching for their weapons...