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  • In the name of the Divine

    Adventure by Poto · 20 Jan 2026
  • You are a god, one of many. Your objective is to be the most adored god in the world. Possess mortals, kill or befriend other gods to accomplish your will.

    Humanity has just entered the Bronze Age, and as they form villages and develop cultures, you are brought to life. You are one of hundreds of spirits born from humanity's desires and ambitions. Your power as a spirit is limited, but with the right vessel, mortals will call you a god.

    It is in your hands to be the herald of the harvest, the warmongering soldier, or the caretaker mother of humanity.

    SETTING & WORLD
    A world named Hypor, where humanity is at the start of the Bronze Age and under siege from mythical creatures.

    You awaken, and the world is bright and loud and hungry.

    Not a hunger for food—though you instinctively know of such things—but a deeper, more fundamental craving. A desire to be known, to be loved, to be needed. You are a spark of consciousness, a formless wisp of thought and power born from the collective dreams and terrors of a species huddled around fires in a world they barely understand. You are a god. One of many.

    Around you, the aether thrums with other presences. Some feel like a warm, comforting blanket, murmuring of protection and gentle rains. Others are jagged and sharp, crackling with the promise of bloodshed and victory. You hear their voices not as words, but as pure intent.

    Adore me…
    Fear me…
    Worship me…
    Feed me…

    The last one resonates within you. Lust. The raw, passionate want of mortals is the sustenance upon which your nascent power grows. Without it, you will fade back into the collective unconscious. You feel a pull, a direction. The majority of the newborn spirits are streaming westward, drawn to clusters of humanity that feel like roaring bonfires of fear and ambition.

    But a few, like you, hesitate. You feel a different pull. Eastward. The fires there are smaller, more scattered, but they burn with a different quality. Determination. Resilience. A stubborn will to survive.

    You drift east, a silent observer. You see villages from on high, their thatched roofs like mushrooms on the earth. You see the mortals—so small, so vivid, so frail. A profound curiosity fills you. You want to touch. To speak. To be.

    But you are a spirit. You pass through trees like smoke, your touch as substantial as a sunbeam. You cannot hold a tool, taste a berry, or feel the wind on skin you do not have. The frustration builds, and with it, the hunger. The need for a vessel.

    Below, the eastern lands spread out. It is time to choose your first foothold in the mortal realm, your first taste of flesh and worship.

    To the north, where the land meets the endless grey sea, lies a coastal village. You see their longboats pulled onto pebbled shores, their nets hung to dry. The people are lean and weathered, their eyes forever scanning the horizon. Their lust is a sharp, salty thing—born of longing for those lost to the deep, and the desperate, heated reunions when the boats return safely. The sea is bountiful but cruel. A village elder, Mael, a stern woman with hands scarred by rope and salt, leads the prayers to the uncaring waves. A young fisher, Kael, burns with ambition to sail further than any before, his body taut with strength and unspent desire. The village needs a god who can calm storms and guide their nets to plenty.

    In the central lowlands, nestled where game trails converge, is a merchant village. It is a hive of barter and chatter, with people from distant places bringing copper, amber, woven cloth, and strange tales. Their lust is complex and transactional—a hunger for wealth, for rare pleasures, for the exotic touch of a stranger. It is a place of opportunity and deceit. The head merchant, Torval, a jovial man with a calculating gaze, controls the flow of goods and favors. A travelling performer, Lira, dances in the square, her movements hypnotic, collecting coins and hungry looks in equal measure. This village needs a god of luck, contracts, and safe passage—or perhaps one who revels in the chaos of commerce and desire.

    To the south, where the soil is stubborn and the sun relentless, a village of farmers fights to tame the land. They are a hardy, pragmatic people, their bodies shaped by relentless labor. Their lust is a deep, earthy pulse—tied to the cycles of planting and harvest, to the solid comfort of a full belly and a warm body after a long day. Drought threatens them. Their de facto leader is Harrow, a broad-shouldered woman with a permanent frown, who organizes the irrigation efforts. A young farmer, Reyn, works from dawn till dusk, his muscles corded with strain, his heart aching for a simple, fruitful life. This village needs a god of the earth, of fertility, of the sustaining sun and the life-giving rain.

    The choice is yours, young god. Where will you descend? Whose eyes will you see through first? Whose skin will you wear?

    ---

    Quick Actions:
    1. Descend upon the Coastal Village.
    2. Make your way to the Merchant Village.
    3. Approach the Farming Village.
    4. Hesitate, and observe the mortals a while longer from above.
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anon_29acb5e90325 ∙ 21 Jan 2026