The History

There once was a little land that was quite fine. Because of this, GODS began to play their little games upon it. (It is not currently important to know where they came from.) The game consisted of this: Collect prayers. A simple game, one of diplomacy and marketing and strategy, the typical waves and rolls of any society. 

As the GODS descended, they brought a sort of manufactured wrath upon the hearts, minds, and souls of this land, while yes, cruel, was all a part of setting up their game. (Would you consider it a crime? It happens!) Calculated chaos brought the little people to begin seeking prayer, offering just their wishes at first, expanding to their hearts, expanding to their bodies, expanding to their world. With all players in participation, the game began smoothly. 

Soon enough, sending a PRAYER to a GOD(s) was as simple as the way you and I check out gummy candy at the corner store. They came in all shapes and sizes and forms and ways, and they all played fairly and squarely by the rules. Honorable, really. Each claimed a domain, and each reaped reward from their domain, based on PRAYER, based on the words of their followers, the whisperings at night, the mumblings in choir. Songs, stories, cautionary tales; for the feeble mind of a ‘mortal’, this was the best way to merge into some sort of sanctuative world.

Of course, you had the guys who clearly won. GOD of GOOD HEALTH became so disillusioned by his constant domination over the game, she had simply left, reaping the rewards of her success, and yet no one has heard of her since her leaving. Then, GOD of LOVE, GOD of FAMILY, GOD of PROTECTION— Really, we don’t see many of these ‘Big Players’ anymore, the ones who had chosen broad and encompassing domains without much thought over the consequence of opulence…

And, there left the rest of the GODS, ones in an identifiable and malleable shape that we see today. The ones who obtain their day-to-day glory by providing solace. GOD of PENS GOD of POOL TOYS GOD of SELF CHECKOUTS… It was odd that winning the game really wasn’t about ‘winning’, per se, and was rather more like an endurance test. Like seeing who falls down last while playing jump rope, or seeing how many pledges  you collected in your Jump-a-Thon.

With the rise of GODS. there was the rise of heros, heroship, and questseekers. With turbulent prayer and worship there would come those seeking harm, chaos, poisoned by the delights and joys of holy living… As well, priesthood, those who could order, guide, limit those weak to the decadent promises that Gods would beckon. You can imagine it as so: Heros put out the fires, and priests remind you to turn off your stove top after cooking. 

I’m certain, at this point, that you find yourself swathed with questions: I shall answer just a few, the ones which I can. 

“What can worship bring me?”: Anything. If you want money, you could have prayed to the GOD of FORTUNE (who has now removed himself from the game). If you wanted a purse, you could pray to the GOD of CARRYING SACHELS (who will always respond to need with overwhelming glee). If you really want it, pray to the GOD of FLAT TIRES to pop a tire in the future. (He makes a living off of tricking people into thinking he will fix flat tires… the bastard!)

“What’s so bad about that?”: I’ll remind you of how many of the GODS who brought good fortune and well wishes upon the world after their manufactured apocalypse have since fled. …For the purposes of our story, and to provide that greater context, let's examine two of these HEAVENLY BEINGS. A pair, with a history of some sort, one I’m unsure of and I’m sure no one ever will be. The story of these two happened quite early on into the game, and, really, changed into what could only be considered a wholly new game.

The first: A burblescent and excitable, the GOD of WAKEBOARDING AS A SPORT. Well loved among those in the know.

The second: Bitter, slightly woody, and with rich cinnamon undertones. GOD of CHRISTMAS CRACKERS. Greet them both kindly, won’t you? Thank you, dearly.

They each loved their domain, they loved the game. They loved to play. And yet, (the older one, the christmastine,) grew discontent, bittered, a citrusy pith encasing them, their feelings, their thoughts. And, they thought, Why, with what I provide, with what I guide, does it go unblush? For one night a year, I feel warm, with love. And, the rest, I remain. In the days that passed, lamenting, cast duly by shadowfroth, they sit, idly, softly blowing into brass instruments and weeping, starved, cold, alone. Alone. 

And, in this, in their sadness, not long after, they meet the other; WAKEBOARDING as a SPORT. Their own joy, the game, that has worked so diligently in their favor, ruptured the feeling-veins of the other. And, therefore, slaughtered them, deliberately, in a bloody swath. 

After, they were alone. They were alone. And, they learned quickly: No one knew what wakeboarding was anymore.

…So I hope you can understand why this game has become so dangerous. I hope you can understand quickly how this beautiful world, and all its beautiful residents, have had their cheek pressed to the jagged edge of this harmful game for far too long. As GODS claim domains, people grow dependent. They grow desperate. And then they dissapear: and the world has to reshuffle around each new gap. And, in the worst cases: The GOD dies. And after that, some things simply cease to be at all. Imagine for a moment if your favorite food was encased in a domain, and then the GOD got hit by a train? Well— really, you wouldn’t know it was your favorite food at all. 

To prevent this, a whole new plague wrought the world. As I said, people could bring harm with prayers. GODS can obtain domain over whatever, whether it was pleasant or unkind. And after that incident… the people of this world broke. Rather than wishing for good hope and wishes and pleasantries, desperately; more and more people began to send prayers in a widespread fashion; blabbering, every night before their bed, or in groups, of people moaning and crying, desperate to be heard, to protect the very fabric of their reality—

Mortal bodies don’t take kindly to this amount of divine intervention. Their bones began to grow or warp or grow heavy and stiff or ugly or old and withered— the mortal forms would stretch, disfigure, morph, and melt, just as they groan and squeal their desperate hymns… 

At this point they aren’t quite mortals, really. And, it is important for the functioning of the world to expel these monsters. Heros fill in this gap, usually tempted with the reward of whatever hoard of goods gathered from decades and centuries and lifetimes of begging for something—for more.

Have your reservations about this as you wish. I certainly could…