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Deus Plani: Round 8
Topic Started: May 17 2016, 03:26 PM (366 Views)
Oyster Man
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Master of Biscuit Technology
Indeed, they say it is the calm before the storm that tells you of the coming danger.

MAP


2.)Conriocht, 13.) Starlora - Northern Pantheon, Luna de Vinter


1.) T0R4C - Palankiin


3.) Saldrenius - MrHands


4.) Sigma Draconis - Kraeyar


6.) Ramensoup – Apparatus
Edited by Oyster Man, Jun 11 2016, 06:55 PM.
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Oyster Man
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Master of Biscuit Technology
14.) Eotyrannus - Last Parent


15.) Teuthis - the Myriads


16.) Chocolate Sawfish - Sudurtaf


19.) Eotyrannus - {Unnamed Primal}


20.) Citrakayah - Forestsong

[1] 1x = Roughly human level intelligence.
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Citrakayah

Dispersion can be a tricky thing. Oftentimes, it is determined by chance alone which plant will survive to maturity, let alone which lands where. Or it used to be, but now the Forestsong has access to wind and water, and the sun. Plant seeds and pollen are selectively blown outside the area the Forestsong controls, and encouraged to grow. The bats are asked to disperse the seeds in their feces outside the area under her influence--and they are asked to tell her what they see. Curiosity is a powerful thing.

Meanwhile, the Forestsong tries to set up an experiment. By having a large stone glow brightly during the day and very dimly at night, small plants are induced to grow around it. The Forestsong takes different species and tries to link them together, starting with the ones most closely related. The goal is not to create some monster plant with characteristics of multiple species. Rather, she wants to see if she can simply forge a connection. After all, imagine how much she could learn if the entire rainforest were her senses.

And lastly, there is the matter of the humans. She does not want to harm them, and she wants to respect their wishes. But she will not be eaten alive by them.

Plant seeds are moved, yet again, into specific places by wind and water--but this time the Forestsong's placing is far more precise. Specific areas are seeded with different plant species. Some are fast-growing, creating barriers to human movement. The water and wind help with this. Rivers might be molded to be more difficult to transverse.

But making the forest simply inhospitable won't do. The Forestsong doesn't want the humans to leave, after all, she just wants them to not hurt her. So the plants in specific areas produce good fruit, and the ones that are less useful or dangerous tend to die. The result will be specific areas set aside for humans to live in, and barriers preventing them from getting easily to the true heart of the Forestsong.

[To be continued...]
Edited by Citrakayah, Jun 13 2016, 08:46 PM.
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Eotyrannus
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Supreme God of Fishcakes
For the first time in a long time, Last Parent was feeling like everything was under control.

Not everything was, of course. The god was not omnipotent or omniscient. But there were no outside factors, only its people and their interaction with the world, and that was something Last Parent could work with. It would be its own work, its own mistakes and failures, its own path to victory.

The first issue was obvious- its people were, compared to the humans, unbelievably promiscuous.

Making them less promiscuous, having them lay fewer eggs, would be a simple task. With their parents' newfound care, cannibalism was the primary killer of young fry, which- although absolutely necessary, much like the pain the human females underwent after their larvae had finished gestating- was also somewhat excessive. Last Parent could safely reduce their egg-laying from 50,000 eggs per nest to 2,000. The effect would be two-fold- the snakeheads females would require much less food before laying, and some of the excess material otherwise used for more eggs could be used in increasing resistance to egg-rot, the other major killer of fry.

Still, this wouldn't have an enormous effect on the absurd growth rate of the people-snakeheads' population. Last Parent was nothing if not resourceful, though. The Kinsense, inherent to all of its children, was something already shared between them. It could be added to.

The Astral weaved the strands of magic, connecting them to the snakeheads' basest functions- their basal brains, their hormones. Subconscious knowledge would be provided and shared via the Kinsense, altering its childrens' normal biological systems in response to the environment.

Kinsense would not be just a sense for seeing Kin, but one for allowing the population to react to danger on both a biological and subconscious level. Right now, that primarily meant a further reduction in laying rates, and a general reduction in metabolically-expensive behaviour. This breeding season would be notably more subdued than normal, unfortunately, but that was a price that had to be paid.

____________________

Alternative food sources were also an attractive proposition. On one of the less inhabited areas of water, where the fish stocks were still great enough to allow for experimentation, Last Parent and and a Kin named Huntfowl had been learning new methods of hunting. As Huntfowl's name suggested, he had been learning how to hunt birds.

Ambushing them at the waterside was the most successful tactic, although it required forethought- unlike a crocodile, the people-snakeheads could not see above the water's surface easily. On the other hand, their magic gave them a much longer reach than their snouts would suggest, and a few birds had been caught only because of Huntfowl's firm magical grip.

Other tactics were more... exploratory. Leaping over and onto ducks was less likely to result in being battered by the wings, but required that he lead his lunges, which was a tricky concept to master. And Last Parent's idea of using telekinesis to drag himself forwards through the air and through a bird nest had resulted in the person-snakehead having to wiggle out from between the nest's tree-fork, although the fish had escaped with a chick before the parent birds had figured out what on earth was going on.

That was a stopgap measure, though. Last Parent's main tactic had been working on actually making the fish stocks recover before things became dire.

With careful application of its control over the waters of the earth and the sky, the Astral god had been creating areas of ideal conditions for fish to live. Not snakeheads, though- the intention was for the fish to spread out from the pools, letting them breed much faster than if they had been constantly hunted by the Kin. Giant terrapins and freshwater snails were, despite not being fish, especially encouraged- one day their shells might make them valuable for more than just food. Small whitespot fish were also encouraged due to their hardiness, and swamp eels were kept around as well (although in less numbers due to being inefficient prey). For now, these pools would be kept unhunted.

The Kin would be told that, despite their hunger, feeding in them would only make their hunger worse in the long run- and although they were not to be chased out, anything that left the pools was suitable prey. The humans were likely to take the restrictions as an insult, and cause more damage than necessary, so Last Parent put its weaverbirds to work. They would tend to the pools, and weave together images- fish spreading into the rest of the river, a pool pierced by a fishing spear being sundered and broken- and screech or peck at any humans that ignored them.

____________________

Last Parent's awareness of the world around it was also increasing. It could see further- from the streams on the slopes of the World-Towers to the border of the Great Water. It was... interesting, to say the least. But the god's manipulations of the weather were already in use, so lesser methods had to be used to scout the Water that the people-snakeheads would one day call their own.

The salt of the Water was problematic, but other beings there had their solutions. The humans simply stayed out of it, and theoretically the Kin could float a vessel of fresh water atop it, but that was unlikely to be practical.

Instead, it looked at other natives- in particular a strange kind of marine mammal. Its solution was of interest to Last Parent. They kept air in their lungs, but only in small pockets, compared to the great cavities a human would call a lung. Their nasal passages lay upon the tops of their heads, so that they could take in the air without tasting salt. Their ribs collapsed inwards under pressure to keep the air from being pressed into their blood, and their heartbeat slowed to a crawl. Most interestingly, no water flowed through them- they were sealed but for the food they ate.

Perhaps those features could be used. In the meantime, Last Parent began to interact with these strange beings. The humans called them 'porpoises'. An odd word, but apt.

As for the rest of the visible world, the god took to weaving messages atop offerings for the humans to use. Hints, to help them prepare their food stocks for the harsh season ahead. Last Parent was npt quite trusting enough in their common sense to speak directly, as it would for the Kin, but their art would be appreciated and reciprocated.

____________________

The Astral watched its birthplane carefully. Cargazar would probably return at some point, and would probably be visible here, but the Astral Plane was more concerning. The god was not quite aware why, but...

It would need its children to be strong. To face good times with joy. To face hard times with resolution. And to face dark times with righteous anger

It would teach them:

"Strength- when your belly is full and the water is sweet, it is to dance, to play and to share your mirth; when your belly is growling and the water is stagnant, it is to be vigilant, to listen to your breath and to help your fellows; when your belly is empty and the water is gone, it is to take refuge in the safety of your comrade, the force of your jaw and the throbbing of your heart.

"To give up, to refuse your right to make things better, is not strength. It is to sink. Strength is the acceptance that to make things better is a choice. You may still falter. You may still sink. But that is why your Kin are with you- so that you may float each other when it would otherwise be impossible."

The true meaning of its words would probably not be understood for a long time. The Kin, as a whole, had never truly been in the soul-wearing despair that these teachings would fight. But they would help.
Edited by Eotyrannus, May 30 2016, 11:40 AM.
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Teuthis
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Metamorphosis
The deaths of so many Myriad hit the swarm hard. Whilst they felt no emotional attachment, there was a significant notice in the decline in productivity, and the lack of members also led to a breakdown of communication and unity. With sects forming above and below ground, the swarm felt itself divide from the inside, and before long the essence of the Myriad began to rework itself into beginning to heal the wound.

Workers began to increase the width of tunnels to communal areas both above and below ground, reinforcing the structures with organic mortar. The younger subterranean and hunters could now interact on neutral territory, with any disputes dealt with quickly by the working castes.

Myriad variation was not stomped out; instead, the swarm utilised its new essences experimentally, with individual swarm members gaining an assortment of limb shapes and forms. The newer generations found their bauplans focused on compartmentalisng themselves, using various joints and bones to pack their bodies tightly to themselves, or extend their appendages when needed.

The essences of the ground benefited the myriad greatly, as workers consumed the dead subterranean myriads and passed their essences to the others of the swarm. Larvae could extend fibrous growths into the earth, siphoning nutrients from nearby plants. Their exoskeletons became more like rock than chitin, and those with greater proficiency with earth essences were isolated to explore its potential.

The subterranean myriads were allowed to keep their larders; their tunnels would be the future of the swarm, and without their architects being well fed, the Myriad would perish. However, some hunters were moved below ground to ensure the larders were not replenished with the food of other individuals.

The hunters that had forged themselves, however, did not go unpunished. They had selfishly hoarded essence that was not for them alone, and whilst they slept the workers returned their essence and biomass to the swarm.

TL;DR
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T0r4c
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Eldest of The Nine
Palankiin sits with the Neanderthals who remain awake as the sun sets over the cold forest. He ponders as he watches them. The fire spirits begin to dance among Palankiin’s new family, warming the members as they rest.
On the morrow, after the morning hunting and gathering, Palankiin gathers his family. “Brothers, sisters; we are all one, and this means also the spirits that help us.”

Four small spirits appear in front of him; each a different colour.

“We all are fond of the fire spirit, who has helped us through many moons; but there are others I wish to show you and how they can help us.”

The spirit of water held out its tiny arm; and from it, a trickle of water poured out. Palankiin cupped his hands and sipped at the water. “The spirits of water can provide us with drink, while also helping the next spirit.” He explained, holding out the tree spirit.

The spirit hovered over to a nearby bush and began to dance around and through it. As it danced, small clusters of berries began to form. “The tree spirits will help us gather food. Who better to tell us which bushes can be harvested from than the very spirits of the bushes?’

Finally, the earth spirit dived into the ground. After a few moments, the earth began to move, lift and compact into rocks the size of a fist; these then piled in front of Palankiin. “Our brothers and sisters of the earth will be able to aid us in forming stones to make shelters with, and keep us from the cold with the help of the fire spirits." He paused for a moment and took out some of the trinkets that the Neanderthals had made for him. “These gifts you have given me; the spirits are quite fond of them, especially the hollowed ones as I have seen many of them sleeping within them. I would ask that you make more of these, not for me, but for the spirits so that they may reside within them, as we do our shelters.”

Palankiin then watched the Neanderthals reaction before getting to his feet. “Now, I would like some of you to practice helping our brother and sister spirits. The rest will hunt with me.”

Over several nights; as the family moved in search of food, Palankiin could be found sat alone, thinking. Every time, he would be looking in the direction of the Great Tree; and he would mutter the words “I’m sorry, my child.”

On the 14th day, Palankiin gathered the family. “Brothers, sisters; some of you know of a Great Tree within this forest. For those of you who don’t, one of our own, the First Spirit is sleeping, waiting for us to awaken it. I ask of you to return to the Great Tree with me, and awaken our brother. Over time, we have grown strong and with the spirits we are even stronger. Let us create a place we can call home with this strength. Please, help me return to my child, and together we can make a place where our children can grow up safe and not have to struggle for food.”

TL;DR
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Oyster Man
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Master of Biscuit Technology
2.)Conriocht, 13.) Starlora - Luna de Vinter (part 2)
Edited by Oyster Man, Jun 14 2016, 06:31 PM.
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MrHands
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Lord of Caelecti
Caelecti


Conversation with Zenwatoon


A gust of wind blew across the fields during the day's labours. Saldrenius stood before the slaves and the peasants, his body looming over them . A single long exhale came dutifully from his body. "Zenwatoon has demanded I call him superior. This is a truth, he has taken strength from babe and from your fear. My strength is from praise and respect, and all I gather I simply give back. I have no strength of my own, for it belongs to you."

"Be-leaf"


A summary that makes the GM squee in jubulation.
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Eotyrannus
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Supreme God of Fishcakes
For the past few days, the Primal has been doing nothing but building reserves of energy for the journey ahead. The storm that birthed it is long gone- but it can taste the faint traces of energy, feel the activity of the air. It does not know if such a storm would ever end. It remembers the glorious feeling of life in its original moments, before the confusion and pain began.

Its burns with desire to have its essence feel like that, that one perfect moment, again. Forever. And for that it must find new ways to feed, to draw upon the less base substances that form the world. Dirt and animal flesh are useless. It needs food. Truly, actively sublime food.

It gazes towards the setting sun- night will be falling soon. Its filaments trail behind it, catching the breeze, catching the clouds, catching the arachneous aeroplankton, feeding it with their energies. Night's descent will bring cool air, and with that, it will need to find an alternate food source- sucking up dew-soaked webs has been its normal fare in the darkness.

The Primal gazes down- the shadows of the setting sun have revealed a structure on the ground. The beast glides softly to the ground as it lands outside the human encampment. Human settlements look vastly different to the other features of the landscape- perhaps there will be something tasty here.

The camp is little more than a single large tent, made of interlocking palm fronds arranged on a wooden frame, erected before a modest fire pit. It is near the coast, just far enough away so that the waters of high-tide do not wash it away. A rack with a string of plant fiber stands a little way off, dry fish hanging from it. Things are largely still, the ten or so humans that live here sleeping inside, with the only sound being the songs of night insects and frogs.

It enters, moving slowly, not out of an attempt at stealth- the flowing tendrils it has in lieu of legs are perfect for adjusting centre of mass and interacting with the wind, but it is hard for the Primal to support its weight upon them. The tips of the tendrils are compressed, the churning stormcloud that forms them being spread across the ground like ripples on a pond.

It raises its head and eight icy eyes, spotting motion. A messy newborn is beginning to fuss, perhaps wanting food or attention from its mother, and with it the others are beginning to stir.

The Primal's head, for a moment, turns in the sound's direction. But the icy orbs making up its eyes spot the fish first, and it is a very visual predator. It ambles over.

It works its chelicerae on the rack's wood for a moment, tasting it. But the essences are not to its taste. Instead, it maneuvers its shapeless maw to cover a fish and pull it from the rack.

The rack falls onto it. Startled, the Primal thunders- it had been expecting the rack to have roots- and throws the rack off with its jointless wings, hissing like rain on stone. It beats its wings in frustration and moves to try taking a fish once more, this time more smartly.

As the rack collapses an exclaim of frustration spits from the tent. "Gah, something's getting into the fish!"

"Shh, I'm trying to sl-"

The infant begins to wail loudly, followed by more groans from within the tent.

Someone inside sighed. "Deal with San, I'll see what's going on outside."

It looks up- the noise has finally got the Primal's attention.

The beast looks from the rack to the tent, and back again. It decides- it must eat quickly if it wants to be the investigator instead of the investigate. The sound of howling winds come from its maw as it runs its stormy head along the surface of the rack, lengthening its streamers of rain as it does so. The streamers will warn it if anything approaches from outside its not-inconsiderable field of vision.

"What on earth?" A female of about twenty-five mutters as she crawls through the small opening of the tent. Her eyes strain through the dark night once she stands, struggling before they spot the shimmering of the creature before her. "What are you- Hey!" She shouts, first confused but then seeing its eating her family's food. "Get out of that!" She begins to move forwards, waving a thin fishing spear in front of her.

The beast turns around and faces the human. Its eight eyes glow and its fangs shine with intense light. It remembers the pain of being stuck with a fishing-spear- it remembers that humans are delicious, too.

But it is not desperate this time, and so it does not simply overpower the human. Instead it growls, a low and rumbling sound that reverberates through the clearing. As long as the human keeps the spear between itself and the Primal, it is safe. The beast does not know how hard it is to avoid the weapon, and so it tests the defences, a beat of its wings carrying it to as close as it dares. It jabs the air with its stark chelicerae, trying to draw a reaction as it leans, ready to shift its weight backwards and avoid if the human jabs back.

The woman shrieks, shifting her weight onto her back leg and batting the creature's head away with the end of her spear.

"No!" She yells, stepping forward and thrusting, digging the tip of the spear into the center of the creature's mass. However the beast reacts quickly enough, drawing back before the sharp stick can do more than give it a shallow cut. "Help!"

Frantic shuffling is heard from within the tent, and in the dim light another figure can be seen crawling through the tent's door. "What's happening?"

It snarls, thundering again, leaping backwards with another great flap of its wings. It realises that if it wants to catch something, it'll have to get more... creative. It rears up on six legs, roaring- a sound like a lightning strike leading into a hurricane- to buy itself some time.

First idea- using some of its lightning essence to burst the spear. No, it decides, that would be wasteful. The taste of lightning is a rare commodity, and it will not use that fine energy for such a feeble task.

Second idea- a distraction. Its glistening eyes dart. Yes, this is a good plan.

With another great beat of its wings, it takes to the air, and accellerates. It is in its element again. No longer is it slow, pondering- what it would consider a leisurely pace is faster than a human can run. But all the same, that speed is a disadvantage against the spear- flying fast would merely skewer it.

It tilts its wing as it carries itself up into the sky- then with a sudden twist it is screaming downwards. It passes by the human, the air whooshing past her face. But the human is not its target.

Behind it there lay a smothering fog, formed from silken and cloud essences, replenished through its sky-trawling. And unlike its eyes and jaws, the fog is not one that is visible in the murk. With a sound of crashing wood, the Primal rams the tent, the trap set.

The tent's construction was sturdy enough to protect it from strong winds, largely through its supporting stakes being driven relatively deep into the sandy ground. However it was never meant to withstand such a powerful collision. Even though the creature successfully punches through one side of the teepee, easily enough punching through the fronds that act as its siding, it's momentum is significantly slowed down. When it crashes into the other side, only a short distance away, it becomes entangled, and brings the whole tent down on top of itself. Now it is covered by the collapsed tent, though on a different side from the now very confused humans. However the silken fog has been dispersed, and clings around and under the rubble, gluing it together..

Meanwhile the human stands beside herself, her spear dropped as she clutches fists of her hair. Quickly she sets about clearing away the now sticky fronds to free her family. Meanwhile a male of less than twenty stands up from where he was exiting the tent. "What is happening?" He asks, as other groans of confusion come from under the rubble.

It curls its wings, tucking them close to keep them out of the way. One wing has a jagged piece of wood sticking out, but the Primal ignores it in favour of finishing the impromptu hunt. It cuts its way free with its chelicerae, hissing angrily, and pushes itself free before getting back onto its tentacles.

It turns around, keeping off of the collapsed hut to keep it from crushing its own prey, and turns around. It glances around for whoever is least restrained- and pounces, its maw swirling with enough force to strip tendons from bone.

The male human shouts as the creature leaps onto his back, knocking him to the ground. His surprise quickly unravels into panicked screams as the flesh of his back and shoulder are rasped off into the creature's maw. Blood spurts from his wounds and sinks into the sand.

"Kuwat!" The female screams. She tries to drop a cluster of fronds, shaking her hands in confusion when they cling to her hands. Quickly she realizes that they will not come off, and ignores them as she fumbles for her spear on the ground. Finding it, she rushes towards the fallen human. She stumbles along the plant fibers, almost tripping as they cling to her feet, until she finally falls face first into the sand just beside the creature. Grunting and spitting out sand, she rises just enough to thrust the spear into the creature's mass. Her grip on the weapon is poor, the slick palm fronds causing it to slide in her hands, but it is enough to drive it several inches into the beast's flank. However the fishing spear is long and thin, not designed for large game. As the creatures jerks backwards, a reflex from the pain, the tip of the spear snaps off.

"I'm stuck? What's going on? Putri, Kuwat, what's happening?" Voices call from among the fallen tent, as the infant continues to cry even louder.

The creature bellows in fury- this time a wholly organic sound. a roar from the pit of its belly. With one tentacle it crushes the woman's face into the sand, letting it choke and struggle in the airless space, and with the other it stretches out the human's arm.

With a single snap of its chelicerae the arm comes off at the elbow. It picks the human off the floor to watch as the limb is swallowed- then it stretches out the next arm. The Primal will eat this one piece by piece for its insolence.

It is already planning how it will eat the next ones. Maybe it will envenomate one, let it liquify and drink it. Maybe it will wrap one in silk then suck out its flesh through the hole. It will certainly ensure that its prey is secure before it begins, though- the opportunity for experimentation is too good to pass up.

It spits out an ulna as it stares into the eyes of its prey.

The female human screams out as her arm is severed, yet as adrenaline floods her blood she gains a surprising strength. Using her stump and knees as a brace, grinding the raw flesh and bone into the sand, she pushes herself backwards, every muscle in her body tightening as she resists the beast's attempt to manipulate her arm. Yet in so doing her neck and head become very exposed.

"No, no, noooo." The female whimpers.

The male under the creature begins to cry. The flesh along his back and right shoulder is stripped to the bone, and his arm lies twisted uselessly under his belly. However in a move of desperation, he finds his left hand free enough to grab one of the soft tendrils of the monster on top of him. His fist locks around it in a tight grip, his nails tearing into the soft appendage. Not stopping he tries to roll, moving just enough to make the creature lose it's balance. With a painful sob of an inhale he snaps his head left, bringing his mouth close to more of the creature's flesh, and bites down. His blood, and that of the creature, mingle in his mouth.

Meanwhile, during the commotion a gnarled hand clothed in shorn plant fibers breaks from the fallen tent. An older man of almost forty breaches the debris, and what he sees horrifies him. "Primal!"

Not wasting a moment he turns to free others from the sticky mess. Fortunately most of it has done little more than stick small remnants from the teepee to the people within, not fully impeding movement for the occupants. He clears a frond off the face of a woman next to him. "Cinta! You have to run. You have to take San, and the others, and you have to run. You have to do this!"

The woman immediately shoots upwards, her eyes wide and her mouth agape from what she sees. "No! Putri, Kuwat! We have to-"

"There's nothing we can do. You have to take them, and run. Please, Cinta. I will give you time."

The color of Cinta's dark skin can only barely be made out in the dim starlight, but she seems to grow very pale. After a moment she finishes uncovering the others around her, most of them no older than twelve, though another young adult of around their mid twenties is among them, and together they try to make towards the tree line. Their escape is not exactly quiet, as the newborn wails, and a child of about six years cries questions as to what is going on.

The old male then circles around the primal and his wounded family mates, spear in hand and breathing heavily. Suddenly he throws the weapon to the ground, falls to his hands and knees, rips a necklace made of animal skin and sea shells from his neck, and casts it before the creature. "Primal, Great and Terrible, I shake before you. I see the things you do, and know you are powerful. I beg you, please spare the rest of my family. Ask me what you want, and I will give it."

The Primal almost falls, having to scramble to its feet as it props itself up with one leg. Then it drags the young man's head to its mouth and envelops it.

The human elder draws its attention, and it spits out a pinkened skull that comes to a rest before his bowed head. One tentacle is raised towards the female- a command for it to halt. The other raises the elder's chin to meet its eyes almost delicately. Then it speaks.

"Food," it says with a voice like a thunderclap. "Lightning. Man-flesh." It drags the human to its feet, its grip holding it just a little too high to be comfortable. "Delicacies. I have seen the darkness banished the thrice of thrice of ten times. You will tell me of rare and concealed and tasteful things..." It uses a fleck of its precious lightning energy, cauterizing the bleeding female's wound in an instant- "And you will be of more value than to be breathed and made part of me."

The lightning lances up the females arm, cauterizing the wound but burning her flesh up to her shoulder and sending her into a seizure on the ground. If she gets care afterwards she won't die, though she is certainly incapacitated for now.

"Tasteful things?" The man gulps, his eyes wide. "I- I can give you fire. I can take you to where the fish spawn, at, at, at the color rocks." The man's head twitches downwards, towards the body and head, and he grimaces. "I give you my son, Kuwat. Please, just..." The man seems unable to finish his sentence.

"Fire," the Primal drawls, continuing to hold the elder in its one tendril. "Colour rocks. These interest me." It tosses him to the ground, towards the other human. "You will tend to the female while I replenish myself. Then you shall uphold the bargain." It begins to strip the corpse beneath it completely, planning to retake upon the cloud-silk as well before it will return its full attention to the two creatures of flesh.

The older man rushes over to Putri and scoops her up in his arms. "Shhhhh," he tries to calm her as she moans. His brow squints with determination as he eyes the burn along her charred arm. "I need to make a salve. Please, I do not need long. I can use the sweet wood bark and thistle just over there to help her. I just need a few moments."

The man runs to the tree line to gather what he needs, and then fumbles awkwardly in the dark as he prepares the salve. He applies it to Putri's wound, and then wraps it in some of the scattered palm fronds. It's obvious from the expression on his face that he would like to do more, but knowing time is short he simply piles some of the fronds atop her. When the sun climbs into the sky she will be protected from its rays. Finally he runs to a nearby stream and collects water in a surprisingly sealed bark bowl, which he sets next to Putri. By the time he is done the sun is beginning to crest the horizon in the east.

Meanwhile the primal gorges itself on the man-flesh. It consumes Kuwat quickly enough, though its body bloats and turns a crimson red, weighed down heavily by all the meat it has eaten. Even now however some of the creature's essences are absorbed into the primal, and with it some strength.

It rests languidly as the elder applies the salve, having turned what was once their home into a makeshift bed. It is aligned into a polygonal pattern- perhaps some remnant of spider instinct within the Primal. Bones of what was once the man's son lay scattered around, some incorporated into the bed's structure and some left where it spat them out. All of the silk has been retrieved and ingested.

It would appear to be asleep if not for the eight icy globes fixed on the two humans. Every so often they glance upwards towards the clouds, glaring hungrily.

Eventually, when the elder looks as though its attention is no longer fixed on the female, the Primal moves towards them, the added strength making it slightly less awkward as it does so. "To eat more man-flesh would be corruptive," it rumbles, "but I shall do it for the sake of retribution if you betray me." Its massive head, swirling with crimson clouds, swings in the direction of the fire pit. "The taste of smoke appeals to me at this moment. Explain the methodology." There is no room for argument.

The older man's face is frozen in a vague dumb expression. "I don't- what do you- the ways of the gods are mysterious to me. I do not know how you eat fire. Great Primal, I can make it for you though. Please, I need only a moment."

The man rummages through the debris for several moments until he locates a basket made from vine and plant fibers. Inside he pulls out several pieces of smooth wood, and a curved branch with rope running in a straight line to connect two ends of it. He walks stiffly to the fire-pit, and using the tools he has brought, begins twisting a smooth wood fragment into a tuft of dry grass as it is braced against a flatter piece of wood. After several moments of rapidly spinning the two pieces of wood together a thin trail of smoke begins to rise. Before long the grass has formed into a small orange ember. Quickly the man sets this in a larger bundle of grass, and blows on it until it ignites. Then, carefully stacking twigs and branches upon it, he slowly builds up a nest for the fire to grow in.

"I give this humble offering to you, Great Primal."

The Primal moves in to feed, ignoring the man's praise- it cannot feed off of its own ego, no matter how large it grows. Instead of immediately eating the fire, it spends time testing other materials and sucking up smoke and ashes- mainly smoke- then changes tactics to maintaining the fire and sucking off tongues of flame in the process. It is a patient beast, and the additional work is worth the richer meal.

To its annoyance, drawing essence from the fire proves to be difficult. Though physically the Primal has no trouble swallowing the smoke and ash, it cannot taste what little essence is within it. The flame itself is worse. Though it is full of essence and raw primal energy, it is seemingly too pure. Any attempts to drink the essence from it only yield painful burns for the young Lesser-Primal.

If the human notices the Primal hurt itself on the fire, he hides it well behind a mask of concern for the female. Occasionally he glances over and feeds the flame as needed, but otherwise tends to her. At one point he wanders off to gather ingredients for more salve, and at other times to get water or eat, but ultimately stays out of the Primal's way, both from respect and fear.

Sometime in the late afternoon, it regards the humans once more. "I tire of this meal," it informs the man. "You will tell me where the coloured rock is and I will leave- I have no interest in staying in any one place. You may take a tongue of fire for your own use before I finish eating." It moves off of the fire to stretch its jointless wings and await the knowledge.

"The color rock is to the north," he explains, "in the water between this island and the next. All people fish there often. The water is warm and shallow, and the fish always spawn there."

The Primal does not bother with thanking the human. Instead, it raises its wings and then brings them down, hurling itself into the air, taking a detour off its normal route to investigate the place spoken of by the elder.

____________________

With a splash of water, the beast hits the water, ignoring a group of startled fishermen as it plunges into its chosen deeps.

Needless to say, it goes much better than the last time it hit the water. The sudden transformation of rain to bubbles, lightning to glowing plankton, cloud to green sea is expected and natural for it. Still, these aspects are weaker than they had been- it spreads its filaments to take in the microscopic organisms of the water, and sucks up wavetops as it goes.

It flexes its wings, propelling itself with ease now that it has the energy and clarity to think of how. The 'colour rocks' are a reef, surrounded by seagrass meadows. The primal approves of the place- it has a certain beauty to it.

As it moves, it feels a pain in one of its tentacles as they brush the rock. A rush of bubbles comes from its maw, a geyser to proclaim its fury. Unfortunately the target of its ire is but a simple, immobile animal.

It remembers the fire. It must break through the pain if it wishes to taste lightning again. And so the fire coral is devoured, even as it burns the inside of the Primal's maw.

Pain, it decides, is the food of the pure. That which hurts the Primal in its feeding shall make it stronger. It begins hunting for toxic and venomous creatures- the baser materials are left untouched, except to maintain its already-perfect form, and to give it the energy needed to obtain the essences it lusts for in the first place.

The Hunt
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Hyena Trouble


Bonding


Revenge


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