Instead, give me this, somewhat more generically fantastic thing:
Tell me the story of a world in which a god associated with a generally malevolent phenomenon is viewed as a benevolent force. The more negative the phenomenon, the more genuine the god's benevolence, the more points you win. The who, what, where, when, why, and how are entirely up to you.
Go?
Please?
9 comments:
The world was being perfected. The gleam of gold and stainless steel cracked the old cities. The sand on every beach was pure white and smooth. Every roadway was immaculate, clean enough to eat from.
Except no one did much eating, or anything else. There was no room in perfection for change.
Their quest ended in a dank, swampy wood, perhaps the last one remaining. The edge of perfection was miles away, but advancing inexorably. The temple still stood here, the place of defilement, of death and filth and muck, the throne of the Rotlord.
He was their only hope.
On distant Veyrl, in the landlocked kingdom of Llil, the most revered among all the gods is Tsilvor, god of trash. Without notable rivers or lakes, Llil's fields would be barren and sterile if not for the kingdom's bountiful landfills. Seeking to maintain their pristine beauty, twelve other kingdoms on the continent cart their waste to Llil, paying a small fee to the priests of Tsilvor for the privilege.
From the landfills, in exchange for their worship of Tsilvor, the people of Llil get abundant fertilizer. Once a month, the priests of Tsilvor hold an auction of their salvage from the refuse. While many of the items truly are junk, occasionally there is a diamond in the rough, and so the auctions draw in the kingdom's nobility like no other event.
It is true that the smell from Tsilvor's Piles is prodigious, and even the mansions of the nobility and royal palace cannot escape its stench. Plagues and vermin are also common, and are recognized as the banes of Tsilvor, sent to test his subjects and punish those whose faith is insufficient. Still, without Tsilvor, Llil would not be habitable, and so its people faithfully endure.
Thanks, guys! I knew I could count on you, and this, to produce something. I love how you both went in for rot/trash related concepts. Very creative - I was much more likely to go with something big and heavy, like death or murder.
I actually do this a lot. My RPG settings have a few. But here's a new one:
A world is created from chaos by the order giving word of several gods. They are far from omniscient. The decreed laws before they they could see the consequences. They frequently made mistakes. Things turned out worse than they expected. But they were beings of chaos who could not undue their words. Time and time again the god of betrayal and broken promises had to save them from their own mistakes. The human concept is just a lower form of the divine power of changing your mind with experience.
In each imperfect world, the humans pray to him to break it so it can be replaced by something more just.
The Murder God
He shares his gifts freely. The good news is for everyone.
Tag! You're it!
Some souls live entire lifetimes without the revelation of their part in the game. They dwell in peace and contentment, which their former brothers regard with horror and pity. They have lost their joy.
Tag! Knives next!
The memory of a soul is long. They remember their allies. They remember their enemies. Everyone has a chance to free another from the flesh-prison.
Tag! You are free! Free to see your next role in the game. Remember me, brother, when you return, and grant me the same!
@ Scattercat
Ok. Now you're starting to freak me out.
It was in the midst of a daemonical plague. A wretched, feverish pollution that brought about hundreds of freakish mis-births that wriggled and squirmed out from the victim's flesh irregardless of their gender or anatomy or even whether they still lived. Writhing, tumorous things formed horribly deformed pustule-sacs that reared outwards from any and every bit of flesh exposed to the fetid miasma that wafted sullenly from the sewers. They tried to close-off the sewers. Then they tried to close off the lower districts.
It didn't do any good.
Nothing could stop the hellishly infectious plague. It was a devilish pox of fertility.
Fetility run amok.
That is why the people flocked to the once proscribed and interdicted shrine of The Barren One, to seek some consolation and comfort from the Mother of Desolation, She of the Sterile Womb, the patient Empress of Wastelands.
And she smiled.
Crookedly. Cruelly. For She had finally won after many, many long hard years...
@ Netherworks
Nice. I really like this one, especially how subtle and sideways it is. Barrenness... definitely bad, but not quite evil. Well played.
@ Netherworks
Nice. I really like this one, especially how subtle and sideways it is. Barrenness... definitely bad, but not quite evil. Well played.
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