For all the power of a God that Deone had, to make himself present in any place his followers dwelt, to have most of the Mortal realm his to transport to, Deone decided he’d rather stroll through Spear’s Bay and wander until he stumbled upon the Ocean God’s temple.

Sometimes, it was best to take the scenic route. He really did have all the time in the world.

Deone explored Spear’s Bay.

As Phyfe left a chaos in the wake of his bellowing gospels, Deone went the other direction, away from his temple and surrounding markets. Deone first went to the Bay itself.

The Bay for which the city was named held little of the long, sandy beaches that Deone envisioned; the land sloped into the sea, carrying shrubbery patched into mixed soil and on into the very edge of the greenish-blue water. The Bay held long wooden docks, populated with ships of all sizes, from an armada of little two person skiffs to a few large, blue and white colored galley’s flying many flags but each sharing one amongst their thin sails, blue with a diagonally pointed white spear head. One of the galleys was of a slightly different design, colored in red accent and flying red and gold flags. Deone assumed that was a foreign trader of some sort.

The houses, build of a porous brick intermingled between wooden buildings that seemed to use the bricks as a base for them to shoulder themselves between; as if the brick came first and the wood were wild vines that crept between their crevices.

Spear’s Bay’s streets and pathways were dusty dirt while its major roads done in stone. The people that walked through streets wore light clothes, tunics, dresses and kilts, largely white or brown with splashes of colors: aqua, deep blue, the occasional red and green. Color, Deone quickly noted, seemed to mean wealth. Dyes must have been expensive. Deone thought of his temple, of Phyfe the elder, and noted he had not seem as much dyed beige or gold. He’d need a change of color for his Deonites.

The people themselves tended to be curly haired and olive skinned on the whole but dotted among them were more bronze, with a stiffer, frizzier kind of curl; their skin more like his own. He saw no pattern amongst the clothes they wore, finding these darker folk in fine dyed fabrics mingled in with the olive skinned.

Oh. And geckos. On low walls, in the dirt, hidden amongst hanging vines clinging the buildings and public houses, constantly underfoot and largely ignored by the populace, was a mad house of green and brown geckos. Deone stepped past, or sometimes through, the occasional crushed lizard left discarded in the dirt. From along the Bay and on through district with more white brick than wood, more colored tunics than brown, the little pests seemed ubiquitous. No wonder everyone seemed more or less healthy; even the poor could live on lizards alone. As a bonus- few rats!

Though Deone could not feel it, he could see this was a humid place in the way sweat sheened most peoples skin. The few trees, though, did not seem particularly tropical.

Deone’s journey took him from the Bay, through a wealthy district, curving along the water’s edges, away from the docks and towards well housed cliff sides. He saw a barracks, squat and simply build, with spearmen at guard wearing leather armor and leaning easily on their weapons. In the distance inland, Deone could occasionally glimpse a high tower with a series of squatter terraces beneath it. That seemed like a Temple but didn’t feel like one Wes would frequent.

Deone continued along the curve of the Bay until the road rose, breaking away from the wealthy district and into a wider space where grass broke between buildings in small fields, ultimately opening to a stone road leading up and seaward.

Deone could see a cliff with a lit cave at its bottom; the road itself didn’t climb towards the cliff but dipped down towards the cove, creating a pilgrimage of sorts that only a single line of people could navigate into. Grand, severe, dramatic… that felt a little more Wes.

Deone easily wound his way down to the cave’s mouth and saw it was lit by two large pyres with a single, stooped old man attending them. Gulls swooped about calling to one another, occasionally diving into the water or towards land to pick apart a stray gecko. There was no dock, no boats moored to the sea bottom; approaching the cage, you’d either walk or swim and, to Deone’s eye, the waters here did not seem gentle.

Within the cave sat imposing black columns of the God of Oceans and Storms’ great temple.

There weren’t a lot of penitents here, with heads bowed; instead, a few stiff backed sailors, barefoot, approached the temple, spat at its entryway and entered. Deone followed suit.

The Temple had a long pool its center, leading to the very feet of a 20 foot tall statue of a man that looked nothing like Wes holding a spear against his side. The statue’s marble skin was painted in such garnish colors, his lips apple red, his cheeks blushing peach, that Deone could not help but start laughing.

“You dare?” a voice thundered, filling the temple’s single room and echoing through its column. “You dare mock the God that brings storms to drown cities, the God that drag ships to the seabed and calls thunder on whole armadas?”

From behind the statue, blooming from nothing to three times its size, his head brushing the very height of the temple’s ceiling, stepped Wes. His hair was a literal waterfall, his toga awash with live fish that swam in it’s depths; his deep blue eyes flashed with lightening as they glared down at Deone’s diminutive figure. Deone shook his head, smirking up at the grand figure.

“If it weren’t for the fact that I know your awe level isn’t high enough to make this a genuine manifestation, I’d probably be impressed,” Deone said. “But you aren’t. And I’m not. So here we are.”

“Oh,” Wes said, glowering. “It’s you. Took your time getting down here, didn’t you?”

“Did I?” Deone said, wandering over towards Wes to offer a slim, brown hand up towards the giant figure. Wes ignored it.

“I saw you and Ze hanging back. Must have been a long fucking conversation.”

Deone dropped his hand. “Not that long.”

“At least 20 years long.”

“20?” Deone nearly choked, realizing how bad the time dilation between the God Realm and the Mortal Realm truly was. Wes grinned, taking in Deone’s surprised.

“Oh yeah, 20 years or so. You’re a little behind my friend. Petra and I have carved out all the good followers, in this area at least. Might want to look East, go compete with Songbird for the Islands.”

Deone straightened his robe and adjusted his satchet. “I guess I missed out on a few things. But 20 years is nothing to a God.”

“Well,” Wes said, leaning against his decidedly thinner, hairless and overly decorated tribute stature, “that nothing is a lot more than you had.”

Deone grimaced, then glanced towards the statue whose head Wes was now leaning on.

“Love the lipstick, by the way.”

Wes scowled, drawing himself up to full height once more. “What. Do you. Want?”

“Ahem,” Deone dramatically coughed into his fist, then stood straight, looking up to the God of Oceans and Storms. “Wes. I’ve come to bargain.”

For a moment, Wes considered him; Wes never seemed clever to Deone, but there was something swimming behind those blue eyes that he knew he could work with. He just didn’t know what.

“When you come to bargain,” Wes thundered, “you usually have something to offer. You have nothing. Few followers. No alliances. No power.”

“Some power,” Deone countered.

“Some?” Wes said, showing a fierce grin. “I can make sure that every ship with one of your followers in it gets hit with a hurricane and ends with every hand drowned. I can make every village with your shrine is so soaked they’ll never be able to harvest crops. Fuck, they’ll never be able to plant them, waist deep in water. What were you again? God of accountants?”

“Lawyers,” Deone growled.

“Lawyers,” Wes drawled. “If Gary sues me for copyright infringement, I’ll come right to you.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

That quip about lawyers got a little under Deone’s skin, but he was determined to come out of this ahead. This was, above and beyond the bluster, a negotiation. This was haggling. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Deone thought of an old woman whose smiling glee was all gums and wrinkles. It was a face he didn’t recognize.

“You have some power over your followers. But I can make that power absolute. I agree to show up at your ceremonies, you can make your believers swear anything under oath. You heard the Guide. They’ll be compulsed to follow it.”

“I also have the power to drown this entire fucking city.”

“True. I bet that would take a lot of Divine Power, though. How many times can you bring a storm that power? Once a century?”

Wes sneered, “More. I could do it every five years, if I wanted to.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Deone countered.

“Doubt all you want. You don’t know my power. You don’t know my faith level. You’re twenty years behind me, Mortal time.”

“Give or take.”

“Give or take….”

Deone weighed up Wes’ towering, frowning form, from sandal to ceiling-touching crown, and threw up his hands.

“Fine! I’ve wasted my time. Lovely to see you Wes,” Deone said, backing away with a wave. “Cool Temple. The cove is a nice touch. I’ll be careful of the seagull shit.”

Deone began walking away, hands clasped behind his back, sensing that Wes’ gigantic form was settling down into something more human the further he went. As he heard the splash of the sea kicking up against the land’s edge, it’s noise just above conversational tone, Deone muttered, “I guess I’ll have to go see what Petra’s been up to….”

Thunder clapped in the Bay, despite the cloudless sky, and the sailors who seemed to make up the bulk of Wes’ followers froze, staring upward. The gulls, frightened by the sudden noise, broke into flight, leaving the sounds of lapping waves and muttering sailors behind them. Deone paused, cocking his head.

“Alright, fine,” Wes said, folding his massive arms, causing a light ripple in the liquid fabric of his sea-water toga. “What do you want.”

“Oh?” Deone said, softly. “The God of lawyers has something you might want?”

“Come back. Now,” Wes snapped.

Deone turned, his eyes sharp and narrowed. He did not move.

“I mean please. You pissed me off. The statue thing. I got triggered.”

Deone turned away once more, taking a few steps.

“I want out of the contract,” Wes called. Wes strode hurriedly towards Deone, maintaining a balance of pride and trepidation all at once. “Tear it up and we can talk about whatever deal you like.”

Deone glanced down at his brown leather satchel and felt the warm glow of the contract within, the Oath made between Zuzu, Wes and Petra and the beginning of the Nature Alignment. Deone touched the satchel’s cover with a strong but wizened brown hand and shook his head.

“Your Contract?” Without pulling out the parchment, Deone recalled the words itched in its magical surface. “Your interests shall not conflict with Zuzu or Petra’s interests. Your followers will not make war with their followers.

Deone cocked his head, regarding the still large, though human sized, Deity before him. “Wes, were you planning on starting a war in your alliance? Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

“No,” groused Wes, sharply glancing away. “I wasn’t planning on anything. I don’t like being controlled this way. I don’t like you telling me what to do.”

“Wes,” Deone said softly. “I didn’t make you align with Zuzu and Petra, that was all you. I’m just the reason you can’t change your mind. And… I won’t lie. I can’t destroy any contract you’ve freely made. Word is Bond doesn’t work that way.”

Wes spat, looking something like his sailor worshippers, his spittle a pool of algae and mini-jellyfish. “Alright. If you have nothing to offer me, what do you think you could offer Petra?”

Deone’s bushy brow rose. “Petra’s smart. She knows she could bind her high priests to her, absolutely.”

“If she’s so smart, why didn’t you approach her first? Eh?” Wes said, tapping a thick finger to his temple. “You need something from me and the only reason we’re talking is you have something over me that I can’t do a damn thing about. And you’re telling me you still can’t do a damn thing about. So I’m starting to wonder if fuck you is the only thing we’re negotiating over, is it fuck you to your face or fuck you behind your back?”

“I’d prefer to my face,” Deone said tapping a finger to his chin. “I can’t end your contract. But I do control the consequences of it….”

“Explain,” Wes growled.

Deone parted his hands in a shrug. “Word is Bond forces you, Zuzu and Petra to stick to their contracts. Anyone in my presence who makes an oath must complete it. But your followers weren’t under my contract. You can’t encourage your people but they still have their own free will. And if they swear anything in your name… like a war, for instance… their punishment for breaking that is under my control.”

Wes thought a moment, holding still. “Alright. Assuming this is true, what do you want of me?”

“Simple. I don’t know the details of your Godly perk but let me take a wild guess…. Stormbringer. Able to summon storms?”

“Close enough,” Wes allowed.

“Then maybe close enough to ensure anyone who considers themselves my follower will have storms avoid them when travelling?”

“What, so I can’t bring a storm to any city your people are in? No deal.”

“While traveling, Wes. If they live there, bring the rain. If they are on ship or caravan, you won’t bring any storms down on their heads.”

“It still seems like too much. And how am I supposed to know the difference between your people and any others, anyway?”

“All travelers under my protection will have a shrine dedicated to me. A traveling shrine. Should be obvious enough.”

“What does it look like?”

“I’m making it up as I go along. I’ll make it obvious, though.”

“In exchange for?”

“A curse on anyone who swears themselves to you, in your name, and fails to focus on making you the most powerful God in the mortal realm. Even if it’s not in your Alignment’s interest, your followers will always put you first.”

“They already should put me first!”

“Theoretically. But there’s nothing to hold them to that.”

Wes considered the offer for a moment, turning his gaze up towards the statue. It’s sea green eyes stared down passively into Wes’ depthless blue.

“Can you make them piss blood?”

Deone choked. “What? No. I mean, possibly but that’s….”

“That’s what I want. Assuming you can curse them to drown or something immediately?”

Deone thought a moment and, in the corner of his eye, a small bar appeared, labeled “Divine Power.” It was at max felt, relatively, smaller than the area it took up of his attention; as if it were a small pool, currently full, that could grow in capacity. The thought of linking mortal death to the curse struck him with a vision of a Divine Power so large, his current capacity was just a bare sliver, a cup of power dropped into a lake.

“No. No, I don’t think I could do that… but….”

Thinking again, Deone envisioned… with a shudder… a mortal peeing blood. A full hemorrhage, the flow coming this and undiluted, swallowed his Divine Power bar as it stood. But pulling back, leaving the bleed at more an uncomfortable pink…. This only took 30% of his current power. Considering where his power currently stood, this felt like a working a minor miracle.

“I can make them… pee… blood. They won’t die from it. It’ll just be uncomfortable.”

“Ha! Good.” Wes barked a laugh and clapped his massive hands together, disturbing the aquatic life swimming passively through the water of his toga. “Fucking with me is an STD now.”

Deone sighed, “We have a deal then?”

Wes looked over Deone, both Gods insubstantial, passed by and through by the few mortals coming in and out from Wes’ temple, and gave a sharp nod, offering his hand.

“You start, God of Contracts,” Wes said, derisively.

Deone took Wes’ hand, though the Ocean God’s palm swallowed his own, and spoke. “I, Deone, God of Contracts, Curses and… Gambling… will curse all who swear themselves to Wes, the God of Oceans and Storms, and fail to keep Wes’ interests, power and glory--“ Wes nodded vigorously at this last minute addition- “as their first priority, over all other Gods, individually or Aligned, with…. Bloody urination… for the term of our agreement, the protection of my followers, who you will know by their shrines, as they travel through your aspected Domains.”

Wes nodded, giving Deone’s hand a single pumping hand shake. “I, Wes, etc, etc, give my oath to not use my power on---”

“To protect,” Deone said, interrupting with a glare.

“Alright. I will protect Deone’s followers as they travel through my… how did you put it? Aspected domains?”

“Yes. The oceans, etc, etc.”

“…Aspected domains, as long as they have those shrines of yours… for, oh… one hundred years.”

“That’s barely a generation! Give me four hundred, at least.”

“One fifty.”

“Three hundred.”

“One. Fifty. You’re barely giving me anything, here. This is like a test,” Wes said. “See if we can deal in the future.”

“Two hundred. We revisit the terms then, when I should have more power. Perhaps we can add explosive diarrhea to the curse.”

“Ha! That would be hilarious. Two hundred years. Mortal years. Deal.” Wes pumped his hand and the deal was struck, sending a gonging vibration through Deone’s thin body and setting his leather satchel alight with the sealing of a new contract.

“It’s done, then.” Already, surprisingly, Deone could feel the curse’s effects playing out in the Mortal Realm. The meter in the corner of his vision, his Divine Power, quickly drained down to 70%. His power, it seemed, would remain at a loss for the next two hundred years. Deone needed to gain more faith, quickly, to replace the loss. At least, Deone thought, Word is Bond, the key to winning this play-through, seemed to take no energy at all.

“Nice doing business with you, Wes. I’ll be going now,” Deone said. “I have a few more horses to trade….”

“The God of Lawyers has more paperwork? Of course, of course.”

Deone sucked his tooth at that title again. He paused before leaving. “Any chance you know how to get ahold of Gary?”

“Gary?” Wes said, suddenly smiling widely. “If you’re going to visit the afterlife, just hitch a ride with one of the mortals.”

Deone glanced down, grimacing. “Makes sense. Yes, thank you, I’ll do that.”

“Would you do me a favor, while you’re going?” Wes said, still grinning ear to ear. “Let me borrow one of your parchments.”

Looking askance, Deone drew a parchment from his satchel and handed it over. With his finger, Wes made a mark on the parchment that glowed with Divine Power, rolled it up and handed it back. Deone took the parchment and tried to put it back into his satchel but… it felt like whatever was on the paper, it did not belong with the rest of his contracts.

“Do me a favor and show that to Gary. Don’t open it until you see him, though.”

“Okay,” Deone drawled, wondering if he’d somehow become a mule for some divine weapon, some God bomb, he wasn’t aware of.

“And if he asks you why? Tell him Wes says because Fuck You, that’s why.”

Wes broke into a bellowing laughter and walked back to his statue. He leaned into its painted marble skin and disappeared.

Deone, still clutching the parchment, frowned at it, shrugged, and turned back towards Spear’s Bay. He imagined that it shouldn’t be terribly hard to find someone dying in a place like this.

Deone began the trek back up towards the city-state proper, the cove still devoid of the gulls Wes’ thunderous tantrum had scared off, trailed by a scampering handful of watchful geckos.