World Creation Superdraft 8: July 2024

[csyphrett]

I need a third dominion. I think I am going to pick structural weaknesses.

CES 

[Sociotard]

I'm sorry I don't post every day. My laptop no longer connects to the internet. It makes this a challenge.

 

Player: Sociotard, God: The Crawling One, God of Prisons and Confined Spaces

• Geography: The Oil Caves

• Sentient Life: Agoraphobic Humans

• Gift to Civilization: Contracts

• Fauna/Flora/Ore: Spice Lice

• Interference:  The Hecatoncheires contains a few hundred Oubliettes

• Mythic Monster or Guardian: The Sleep Paralysis Demon

• Secondary Domain: Just Giving Up and Accepting It

• Secondary Domain: Single-Focused Obsession

• Secondary Domain: 

Zeke's small frame was a blessing in the Oil Caves. The rough and twisting tunnels, barely wide enough for a grown man to inch through, allowed the ten-year-old a modicum of speed. Still, he moved with caution, careful not to snap the lifeline of twine trailing behind him—his only way back through the labyrinth.

 

The tunnel walls glistened with an iridescent slime, a telltale sign of his quarry. Zeke took the left fork, descending at a steep grade, his heart quickening as the passageway opened slightly. There, in the flickering light of his headlamp, he saw them: dozens of massive, writhing oilworms, each as thick as a python.

 

With practiced efficiency, Zeke unfurled his sack and began the arduous task of capturing the beasts. Their slick bodies fought his grasp, but determination won out. One by one, he stuffed the ugly creatures into his bag, their oily essence already seeping through the fabric.

 

As he worked, Zeke's mind wandered to the world above. He imagined the great clockworks that relied on the precious oil harvested from these worms. Gears larger than houses, driveshafts the size of trees, all in constant motion, keeping the very fabric of civilization from unraveling. And here he was, at the bottom of it all, a mere cog in the grand mechanism.

 

With his sack full to bursting, Zeke began the awkward journey back. There was never room to turn around in these constricting passages; he had to inch backwards, feeling his way with his feet. By the time he emerged into the Corridor—a long trench roofed with canvas—his arms and legs were scraped raw.

 

The Corridor was a hive of activity. Skeletal men and gaunt-faced boys filed past, each seeking their own tunnels or returning with their prizes. Beyond the canvas, Zeke knew, lay a vast expanse of sun-baked rock, pockmarked with countless tunnel entrances. Some miner's walked straight out there, convinced the pickings would be richer, but Zeke's hereditary agoraphobia would never allow him to try.

 

As Zeke made his way through the branching passages, each wider than the last, the weight of his father's contract pressed down on him harder than the sack of worms. He remembered the day the bosses had come, how his father's eyes had dulled as he signed away their futures for an advance that promised riches but delivered only debt.

 

Now his father was gone, shipped off to an oubliette on the Hecatoncheires. Zeke pictured his father curled in a cell like a womb that drained life, offered the cruel choice between backbreaking maintenance and a slow death. His father's contract was still there. Nothing ever killed a contract. It just took Zeke when his father was too broken to keep trying to complete it.

 

At the weighing station, Zeke's catch didn't reach the day's quota. The clerk's eyes held no sympathy as he marked the ledger. "You'll need to make at least two more runs today, boy," he drawled. "Unless you want to join your pa."

 

As Zeke trudged back towards the tunnels, he felt the insidious whisper of the Crawling One in the back of his mind. The wicked god offered sweet relief: give up, accept your fate, let the contract crush you. Why fight when you could simply surrender to the inevitable?

 

But Zeke had made his choice long ago. He would not yield to despair. Instead, he embraced the other path the Crawling One offered: obsession. He narrowed his world down to a singular purpose—find the worms, fill the sack, meet the quota. Nothing else mattered.

 

As he tied off a new string and prepared to plunge back into the darkness, Zeke allowed himself one fleeting thought of freedom. Perhaps, one day, he would clear his father's debt. Perhaps he would see the sun again, feel the wind on his face. Or perhaps he would become like the great machines he served, endlessly toiling, unaware that his contract had long since been fulfilled.

 

With a deep breath, Zeke entered the tunnel. The darkness swallowed him, and all that remained was the hunt.

Edited July 14 by Sociotard

[Logan D. Hurricanes]

I'm one pick behind so here we go. 

 

“I’m scared.”

 

Tranvers told her. “I know, child. That’s why I came.”

 

“Why did this happen to me?”

 

“I cannot say. Death comes to all mortals. You have fought it for a very long time, but you know what you must do.”

 

“What is this place?”

 

“The Bridge Beyond. This will take you where you must go.”

 

She stared into the mists that obscured the far side of the bridge. “I can’t see the end. What is there?”

 

“That is for you to discover.”

 

“I don’t want to go.”

 

Tranvers knelt and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You have the strength for this. Do not worry.”

 

“Alright, just give me a minute.”

 

He nodded.

 

After several long moments she stepped forward. Then she turned her head and asked, “are you coming?”

 

“Not this time, young one. This bridge is yours alone.”

 

“What’s over there?”

 

“The other side.”

 

The vague answer didn’t help, but then a smile broke through on her lips. She nodded back to him and waved before stepping out on the bridge.

 

“Fare you well,” Tranvers said. He watched her fade into the mists. Then he stood a bit longer in that timeless space.

=====

“What if I fail?”

 

“That is a possibility,” the god confirmed.

 

She paused. “What if they laugh at me?”

 

“Also possible.”

 

That was not the reassurance she was seeking. “I… don’t know.”

 

“What if you succeed?” asked the god.

 

“Then… then everything changes.”

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

“Will I succeed? What will happen? You must know, you’re a god!”

 

He shook his head. “I’m afraid consequences are my sister’s domain. I’m only here to show you the path, your bridge into the unknown. Take it or not, but I will tell you this: you are the only one that can take this bridge. If you decide not to take it, no other person will in your stead.”

 

“Sheesh, no pressure!” she remarked.

 

He grinned.

 

She hopped upon her gigagallus and said, “I’m ready. What’s over there?”

 

He looked at the giant chicken she was astride. “He knows.”

 

She was puzzled, but she headed out.   

=====

 

The unknown is scary for mortals, whether it’s heading to the realm of the dead and possible reincarnation or starting a new venture. Some cultures visualize the future through a doorway or a gate, but Tranvers knows the path into the unknown is a bridge, one with its far end shrouded in possibilities.

 

Appealed to by the dying, the bold, the curious, the romantic, the chickens… Tranvers acts as a guide and inspiration to travel into the unknown beyond.

 

Secondary Domain: The Other Side

 

[Logan D. Hurricanes]

Update

 

Tranvers, God of Bridges, twin brother to Kjósa, Goddess of Crossroads

• Geography: Arboretia, The Highest City
• Sentient Life: The Ocardi, demi-humans  
• Gift to Civilization: Architecture
• Fauna/Flora/Ore: Colossals, Giant 300-400 ft. trees
• Interference: Stolen secret of METAL
• Mythic Monster or Guardian: Gorgotha, the Colossal Serpent
  • Bonus Mythic Monster or Guardian:
• Secondary Domain: Connections
• Secondary Domain: Ropework
• Secondary Domain: The Other Side

One choice left. 

[DShomshak]

On 7/13/2024 at 3:25 PM, Cancer said:

Pooftah Blowhardt announces Their contribution to the stuff of that world, and that is a lightweight substance often called frostite or feathermetal.

 

Jarnvoldir is intrigued. A metal emerging from air and shaped by cold, instead of emerging from earth and wrought by heat? The possibilities seem... remarkable.

 

Including other ores, smeltings and forges.

 

Well done.

 

Dean Shomshak

PS: And frostite sounds perfect for zeppelins!

 

Dean Shomshak

[Cancer]

(It's a repeat in terms of secondary domains I've used before, but it seems essential.)

 

Pooftah Blowhardt  proclaims Their third secondary domain.

 

Rainfall causes new growth to occur on barren ground, and the tears brought forth by the sorrow of loss or injury help, somewhat, in relieving the pain of loss.  These phenomena being already within Their dominion, it is evidently proper that the union of these effects are also within Their dominion.

 

Pooftah Blowhardt's  third domain is: Healing and recovery from illness, with especial favor for practitioners of medicine and comforters of the hurt and sick.

 

(Only interference remains, I think.)

[Pattern Ghost]

Dagnabbit would like Pooftah to know that he has a corps of higly-skilled Gremlins available if any medical equipment needs maintenance.

[Logan D. Hurricanes]

If my count is right, today is my final selection.

 

The world was becoming more than the gods had conceived. Tranvers the God of Bridges, the Knotlord, the Patron Guide of The Other Side, was exceedingly busy.  His duties threatened to overcome him. “Tranvers, make the flames a bridge.” He took this charge from Jarnvoldir seriously. Even as a god he could not be everywhere.

 

And so he conjured an assistant to act in his stead as a psychopomp in this world. Mors Valentine Witzky would appear to those souls that needed help finding the bridge. Mors had a pleasing, unthreatening visage. Often as a vision, sometimes in their dreams, but in certain dire circumstances he would appear in person. 

 

Bonus Mythic Monster or Guardian: The Psychopomp Mors Valentine Witzky 

 

 
 

[Logan D. Hurricanes]

Final Update

 

Tranvers, God of Bridges, twin brother to Kjósa, Goddess of Crossroads

• Geography: Arboretia, The Highest City
• Sentient Life: The Ocardi, demi-humans  
• Gift to Civilization: Architecture
• Fauna/Flora/Ore: Colossals, Giant 300-400 ft. trees
• Interference: Stolen secret of METAL
• Mythic Monster or Guardian: Gorgotha, the Colossal Serpent
  • Bonus Mythic Monster or Guardian: The Psychopomp Mors Valentine Witzky 
• Secondary Domain: Connections
• Secondary Domain: Ropework
• Secondary Domain: The Other Side

 

[Psybolt]

• Geography. 

• Sentient Life. Bamfs

• Gift to Civilization. Music

• Flora/Fanua/Ore: Marijuana

• Interference. 

• Mythic Monster or Guardian. Les Grossman

• Secondary Domain. Drama

• Secondary Domain. Tragedy

• Secondary Domain. Performing arts 

 

Tomfoolery looked out around the world as it started to take shape.  He was fascinated as his Godly family made such moves to the world.  He called Les Grossman to speak to...

 

"Les... there is still far too much seriousness in the world.  We need more room for laughter.  So this is the mission I embark upon thee.  Each of the family tree needs a special gift... something to create a pleasing for them all.  Not mean-spirited mind you... I know how you are.  I want each of them to receive a specific...joke.  Something to make their existence more than what it is now.  Do you understand?"

 

"I do," said Grossman, brushing his hair over the excessive forehead.

 

"I think I will call the idea... a PRACTICAL JOKE

 

Interference:  Each God will receive a Practical Joke from Tomfoolery.  Since you all know your Gods better than I do, you may choose the manner in which the joke is provided. (I am never good at the interference pick, so this is how I get around it)   Have fun with it.

 

 

Edited July 15 by Psybolt

[DShomshak]

Jarnvoldir's practical joke is obviously some sort of machine. In His Holy Name, therefore, the World receives the joy buzzer.

 

With special, extra-large models to fit the hecatoncheires.

 

Dean Shomshak

[Hermit]

It was wrong, Kjósa KNEW It was wrong. It was, arguably, a warning metaphor for a false choice, but that didn't make it right.

 

Still, as yet another rider on the back of a Gigagallus slammed into the prank she'd had sent to her (And almost fallen for herself) Kjósa broke out into divine laughter again, "Damn it, Tomfoolery, that... okay, damn it this one is funny."

 

The rider lay on the ground groaning, and the oversized chicken walked in circles for a moment..

 

And the goddess of crossroads laughed out again. This one wasn't going to get old anytime soon.

 

(Her gift from Tomfoolery was likely paint jobs/false images mean to look like doors and tunnels)

 

[DShomshak]

“Kinfolk all, I gather you to grant the latest metal from my forge. An alloy have I made from from metals eight: strong iron, dull and heavy lead, bright silver and warm gold, clever copper and ductile tin, flowing quicksilver and one more: the frostite given to the World by cousin Pooftah.

 

“But how could this be done? Quicksilver boils long before the flame is hot enough to smelt iron; and frostite soften only in the cold. To alloy them is paradox, impossible.

 

“So that is what I used. Neither heat nor cold can fuse them; instead I used the essences of Gods. No flames but concentrated starlight did I use, with bellows pumping aether instead of air. No hammer did I use, but feathers to tickle as Tomfoolery does, and whips to torment as prisoners are lashed. Ethical conundrums did I speak, and irritating laws from municipal codes. And at last they merged.

 

“Here is the metal of Gods conjoined: divinium!

 

“And this is the use of divinium: That each of you may place your own power within, to make it material within the World. I took the liberty of making a few test items. All future forgings of divinium shall require your assistance to place your power within, or at least your permission.

 

“Cousin Crawling One, prison-lord, I give to you these manacles. No mortal force can break them. I am not even sure a God could escape their clasp; take care that you are never bound yourself.

 

“Umbscurnox, please accept this cloak. Of divinium threads the warp and blackest night the weft. Who dons it walks unseen as thee.

 

“Kjosa, mistress of all paths, I give thee a compass. But not to north or south it points; but name a place or object, and it shows the way. Of course I do not guarantee the way is safe…

 

“Pooftah Blowhardt, none of this would be possible without your gift unto the World. I do not know a proper recompense; but perhaps this chisel may find use. It sculpts clouds as thought they were marble, and fixes them like stone for all to walk upon. Perhaps you know someone who would like a catle in the air.

 

“Rethormathe, Mother of the World, divinium infused with your essence lives, and grows, and propagates itself. I give to you a handful of metal seeds. What they grow is thine to say.

 

"Crose, thy wormholes can be boon or bane. This hoop, if placed within, shall stabilize the gap in space until it be removed.

 

“Dagnabbit and Tomfoolery… Brothers, you are puzzling. The best I could do was a pair of bladders wrought from pure divinium. They are whoopie cushions that at command appear beneath any buttocks within the World, no matter how far away. Whether jest or aggravation comes from point of view.

 

“Oh. Tranvers. I must apologize; I have no gift for you. An injustice, that, for divinium should be yours. A bridge it is between matter and spirit, mortality and Gods.

 

“You chose to steal what would have been free gift, so this I now decree: All Gods may use divinium, excepting only thee. I know that mortal smiths shall speak your name when divinium they forge; but it shall not answer to your will, so let this be your scourge.”

 

 Flora/Fauna/Ore: Divinium, the Metal of All Gods Except Tranvers. It enables Gods, and mortals of rare skill who have their blessing, to make objects of miraculous power. Holy artifacts, if you must use D&D-isms.

 

Dean Shomshak

[Hermit]

Kjósa almost always attended godly symposiums, even if she did not expect them to be of interest to her. She hoped for similar courtesies from the other gods in return after all. She does grow more engaged when Jarnvoldir tells how Ethical Conundrums could be put into craft work beyond the philosophical, though for gods the metaphysical and material was a much thinner barrier to cross.

 

When gifts are handed out, she tried to remain dignified. Of late it seemed a bit more common. So they had turned that path had they? Well, some had been pleasant surprises.

And, truthfully she was a curious goddess at times.
 

Quote

 

 

“ Kjósa, mistress of all paths, I give thee a compass. But not to north or south it points; but name a place or object, and it shows the way. Of course I do not guarantee the way is safe…

 

 

"I thank you, Forgelord," Kjósa inclined her head, and looked over it. In truth, she had a better feel for what lay at crossroads and which ways they lead than any, but over long paths that did not fork or branch, this could be useful. Indeed, perhaps it might be useful in another way that...

Ah, but now was not the time for speculation of the full potential of a gift, "I hope you had joy in the creation of it."

 

Quote

 

“Oh. Tranvers. I must apologize; I have no gift for you. An injustice, that, for divinium should be yours. A bridge it is between matter and spirit, mortality and Gods.

 

“You chose to steal what would have been free gift, so this I now decree: All Gods may use divinium, excepting only thee. I know that mortal smiths shall speak your name when divinium they forge; but it shall not answer to your will, so let this be your scourge.”

 

 

 

While other gods let this sink in in their own ways, Kjósa moves to her brother's side, and pats him on the shoulder to console him...

but also so she could whisper where only he was likely to hear "I TOLD you so." Before she returns to her previous location.

Because a sister getting in the last word is also a consequence of a choice.

 

 

 

[Psybolt]

Geography:  The Stage

 

The Stage is a gigantic stadium similar to the Roman Coliseum with multiple levels of stages and marks where all kinds of entertainment can be held. 

[DShomshak]

Oh -- if anyone's interested, those are bismuth crystals standing in for divi9nium. It's actually called "rainbow bismuth."

 

I almost went with another substance, "partially oxidized hafnium." But I liked the weird cubical crystals just a little more.

Dean Shomshak

[Pattern Ghost]

"A gift from my brother, you say?"

 

The High Holy Gremlin nodded, shuffled his feet, and generally looked like he didn't want to be in his god's presence.

 

"And how long have you had this thing?"

 

The HHG looked around the room which wasn't a room, then back at Dagnabbit.

 

"Three thousand years, my lord."

 

Dagnabbit narrowed his eyes. "And you're just telling me now?"

 

The HHG looked like he really didn't want to be there. "Yes, my lord. Shall I take you to it?"

 

"No." Dagnabbit leaned back and observed the gremlin closely. It was small, invisible to most mortal eyes. Dagnabbit was never good at building things, so it's features weren't nearly as pleasant  as those of his family's creations. The skin had a greenish-yellowish tint he was never able to get rid of, and the features were sharp, and maybe a little bit lumpy. But beyond all that superficiality, beyond that, there was its self, it's inner core, it's drive and purpose and place in the World. And it was agitated. The little homunculus was not afraid of him, no. That wasn't why it was fidgeting about so. The creatures barely had enough fear in them for self preservation, and he'd put that there as an after thought. No, the very core of its being was aquiver. It wanted to fix something, to tinker with something, to alter something. These were its drives. It wanted very badly to get back on task. But what task could occupy generations of its people?

 

The HHG seemed fit to burst. It really wanted to get back to this "gift."

 

"So, tell me, what form does this gift take?"

 

"It's a machine, made of pure Divinium, we can't determine it's function and yet as far as we can tell, it has no flaws."

 

Dagnabbit roared in laughter, the force of it knocking the High Holy Gremlin on his rear.

 

"Well done, brother! The Perfect Machine."

 

 

Edited July 17 by Pattern Ghost

[Cancer]

On 7/15/2024 at 9:22 AM, Psybolt said:

Interference:  Each God will receive a Practical Joke from Tomfoolery.  Since you all know your Gods better than I do, you may choose the manner in which the joke is provided. (I am never good at the interference pick, so this is how I get around it)   Have fun with it.

 

In very limited areas, rarely, a thoroughly unexpected storm congeals out of the air and ... there is precipitation.  But it isn't rain, or snow, or sleet, or hail, or virga, or blood rain, or dust storm ...

Spoiler

 

It rains cats and dogs!

 

And other small wildlife.  Bunnies, flying squirrels, bandicoots, armadillos, marmosets, mice, hedgehogs, shrews ... at sea, perhaps seals or dolphins or walruses or manatees, though those aren't so small.

 

The animals (all mammals) are native to the area where the beastrain falls.  The creatures descend slowly and invariably survive unhurt reaching the surface.  Beastrain never falls over an area larger than a hectare and usually is rather smaller than that, and along with the animals "normal" (but terrifically intense) water rain also falls.  These animal drops never last more than a minute or two.

 

Animals that fall as beastrain are generally bemused and docile when they come to the ground, and any member of a sentient race who happen to be present can pick one up and (usually) tame it easily.  Animals who are not so adopted take a few minutes and assume their normal habits in the environment, though they may become pests.

 

Beastrain provides an explanation for the animal populations on isolated islands where it seems impossible for land creatures to have got there naturally.

 

[DShomshak]

This might step on Rethormathe's toes, since these guys could be considered Nature Spirits. If Death Tribble objects, I'll replace them with something else.

 

Throughout the World, miners say that when you're the last man out of the mine, if you are very quiet you might hear the tap-tap-tap of tiny hammers in the distance. These are the little spirits called the Tappers, the Knockers, or -- because they all have bright blue hair -- the Bluecaps. They are human-ish in shape but stand only a handspan tall. They dress in sturdy miner's garb and carry tiny pickaxes like those that mortal miners use.

 

Jarnvoldir didn't create the bluecaps, but he watches over them because of the valuable work they do. Bluecaps are reverse miners. They can move through stone as well as air, swinging their little mattocks. Instead of making holes in the rock, though, they transform the base stone into veins of ore. Being so tiny, it can take them years or decades to complete a new deposit -- but without them, how long would the World's supply of ore last? And therefore its supply of new metal for the smelters of the smiths? And so Jarnvoldir blesses the bluecaps. In a sense, he's adopted them.

 

Prudent miners know not to work in the areas where they hear the bluecaps at work. It would be terribly impatient and ungrateful to hack out the ore before the job is done. However, miners visit those drifts and galleries to leave offerings of food and the workingman's nectar, beer. And make sure it's good beer.  Bluecaps who are pleased with their mortal neighbors have warned mortal miners of firedamp or imminent collapse, or even rescued them from cave-ins -- though tiny, bluecaps are very strong and can clear a rubble-choked passage within a day.

 

The bluecaps who set ores are all male. There are also female bluecaps who plant gems and nurture their growth, but they are seen even less often. Don't get fresh with a lady bluecap: They are just as strong as the men, and can slap you silly with one blow.

 

Bonus Sapient Race: Bluecaps

 

Dean Shomshak

[DShomshak]

Update:

Jarnvoldir, God of the Forge

• Geography. Volcanoes

• Sentient Life. Taloi

• Bonus Sapient Life: Bluecaps (provisional)

• Gift to Civilization. Steampunk Technology

• Fauna/Flora/Ore. Divinium

• Interference. 

• Mythic Monster or Guardian. The Hecatoncheires

• Secondary Domain. Tools and Machines

• Secondary Domain: The World Machine

• Secondary Domain: Reincarnation by Cremation

Only thing left is the Interference!

 

Dean Shomshak

[Logan D. Hurricanes]

15 hours ago, Pattern Ghost said:

"Well done, brother! The Perfect Machine."

 

 

 

[Cancer]

Alternate take:

 

 

I admit I'm having trouble coming up with a sufficiently meta Interference.

[Cancer]

OK, here we conclude.

 

Pooftah Blowhardt announces Their Interference.  In this, They seemingly intrude upon Their cousin Kjósa's secondary domain, but only in defining the means of the Uttermost Consequence, and placing Their powers at Their cousin's disposal in last need.

 

In time, there inevitably come mortals who lose sight of their intrinsic limitations, and place themselves above all other things in the cosmos, and are consumed with madness induced by overweening pride, embark on acts of senseless destruction, and create things whose only purpose is to feed their delusions of importance and visit woe upon all around them.  This can happen to any of them without regard to station, but when this happens to those of great temporal power the misery can threaten entire continents and races; although sometimes such madmen began as one who manifested some modest virtue and was granted power from a divine source.  Through force of personality they may gain sway over vast numbers of their fellows, and it may seem that nothing can stop them in their goal of mastery over all they can imagine.  This self-corruption is an inherent part of the world as it was created, a runaway process that can only end in annihilation of the one who finds that path seductive above all other urges.  

 

Pooftah Blowhardt offers the final and irrefutable chastisement to those gone to this most horrible form of delusion, divine intervention that cannot be undone and removes all trace of the offender.  It is irrefutable because it is part of Their memory of the very origins of the cosmos, including the gods themselves, and that memory includes the methods to reverse that formation in limited pieces.  In that unmaking, the relevant part of the cosmos reverts back to immeasurably hot vapors of that primeval turbulence, the form that it took is unmade ab initio, and it is then forced to cool back without form, so that the essence of the destructive abomination is eternally replaced by shapeless impotent dross, and the identity of what became so evil is unmade so that it is irreversibly expunged.

 

This unmaking manifests in the world like a phenomenon of weather, as the hottest thing that exists, transiently, in the world: lightning.  Rather than conveying energy between points, however, it englobes a single locus, and the globe remains contained until the necessary divine refutation has been performed.  Though this correction is rarely needed, other mortals have witnessed it, and have named it according to their experiences.  Thus it is known as Ball Lightning, and it leaves Nothing in its wake.

[death tribble]

I have noticed a couple of things:

 

1) The Tour is all encompassing so I do not have the time to do this properly. That and on Saturday I am away for the day. So the draft will not take place in July again.

 

2) I need to come into the draft with an idea of what to do. With Crax and Orlandria I had an idea and it worked. I fit in with everyone else and that did not work

[Hermit]

15 hours ago, Cancer said:

OK, here we conclude.

 

Pooftah Blowhardt announces Their Interference.  In this, They seemingly intrude upon Their cousin Kjósa's secondary domain, but only in defining the means of the Uttermost Consequence, and placing Their powers at Their cousin's disposal in last need.

 

In time, there inevitably come mortals who lose sight of their intrinsic limitations, and place themselves above all other things in the cosmos, and are consumed with madness induced by overweening pride, embark on acts of senseless destruction, and create things whose only purpose is to feed their delusions of importance and visit woe upon all around them.  This can happen to any of them without regard to station, but when this happens to those of great temporal power the misery can threaten entire continents and races; although sometimes such madmen began as one who manifested some modest virtue and was granted power from a divine source.  Through force of personality they may gain sway over vast numbers of their fellows, and it may seem that nothing can stop them in their goal of mastery over all they can imagine.  This self-corruption is an inherent part of the world as it was created, a runaway process that can only end in annihilation of the one who finds that path seductive above all other urges.  

 

Pooftah Blowhardt offers the final and irrefutable chastisement to those gone to this most horrible form of delusion, divine intervention that cannot be undone and removes all trace of the offender.  It is irrefutable because it is part of Their memory of the very origins of the cosmos, including the gods themselves, and that memory includes the methods to reverse that formation in limited pieces.  In that unmaking, the relevant part of the cosmos reverts back to immeasurably hot vapors of that primeval turbulence, the form that it took is unmade ab initio, and it is then forced to cool back without form, so that the essence of the destructive abomination is eternally replaced by shapeless impotent dross, and the identity of what became so evil is unmade so that it is irreversibly expunged.

 

This unmaking manifests in the world like a phenomenon of weather, as the hottest thing that exists, transiently, in the world: lightning.  Rather than conveying energy between points, however, it englobes a single locus, and the globe remains contained until the necessary divine refutation has been performed.  Though this correction is rarely needed, other mortals have witnessed it, and have named it according to their experiences.  Thus it is known as Ball Lightning, and it leaves Nothing in its wake.

Not sure I understood all that. Does In this, "They seemingly intrude upon Their cousin Kjósa's secondary domain, but only in defining the means of the Uttermost Consequence, and placing Their powers at Their cousin's disposal in last need. " to clarify... that last bit is 'to place Pooftah's ball lightning at Kjósa's disposal in last need' or the other way around, where Kjósa's power over consequence go to Pooftah but only in last need?