Willard
"Granted, granted, and... Granted." Majesty's gaze swept over Rav'nixander, Onesifi, and Vivienne in turn, ticking off each of their requests with nary a word of argument. "A fair trade for your support, We find. Though the outcome may not be *Exactly* As you each may imagine, We will attempt to honor your wishes in what follows." Her attention lingered on Onesifi for a moment, her thoughts unreadable behind her veneer of prudence and impartiality. The ritual was beginning, however, and before long her focus returned to the growing confluence of power that had formed between the gathered gods. She finally had enough support; there was no reason for further delay.

With an audible *Crack* And a spark of fire, her personal seal of approval stamped itself upon both the written contract and Bones' rib. Her proud likeness stared out of each circular insignia, as though daring anyone to challenge the hard-won agreements, to go against her overwhelming force of will. This ritual would be her greatest work, after all, and though she did not formalize any means of enforcement or surveillance, she was just as likely as Mr. Bones to come down upon anyone who went against it.

Unable to withstand the sheer concentration of energies upon its surface, the parchment scroll burned up in a flash. The words and signatures remained, however, supported now by something more significant than any physical surface. Though it no longer existed in any physical form, every god there could *Feel* The agreement's presence. Like a hand upon their shoulders, a whisper in their ears, binding and guiding them in this effort to change the world.

No longer laid out in simple language, the contract now consisted of raw *Meaning,* Drawing upon abstract concepts in the same way gods did with their Domains. All would be able to feel Majesty's finishing touches, the gentle tweaks here and there to accommodate those last few objections and requests. 

She introduced *Malleability,* Using the same system by which Bones marked the participants to grant them a degree of authority over the result. Not enough to change the completed ritual on their own, but enough that if a sizeable number were to gather as they had today, they could shift the terms along the lines of Rav's suggestion. Next, the Archfiend introduced *Intent,* The idea that each spell cast should have some will behind it. Not so firm an inclusion as to disallow the creation of runes and magical devices, but enough to prevent accidental discharge of spells whenever someone opened their mouth around a concentration of magical energy. Last of all, she added a hint of *Learning* According to Vivienne's wishes, so that casters might expand their control over time, and expanded the definition of *Language* In the agreement to include several more forms of mortal communication.

And that was that. She locked it into place, wrapped her own divinity around it like a sheath to guard against further tampering, and then focused the gathered power into a single fine edge, a sword that would cut beyond the walls of reality.

_ _
Her brow furrowed with effort as she called upon her demiplane, bringing it as close as she could to the boundaries of creation. It had always existed somewhere *Other,* But now it pressed itself close, so close to the world they knew that even the other gods would be able to perceive its presence... And in that moment, guiding each of their wills towards this singular purpose, Majesty plunged their sword into the depths of her miniature world. The blade carved a line across its surface, and the plane opened up, raw energy pouring forth from its wound.

It bled, wept, seeped across the membrane of existence. Until, slowly but surely, the first tiny beads of magic dripped into the world.

Majesty was breathing heavily, exhausted by her effort. She would need to rest for a moment before what came next, but the others had no need to pause. Half the work was done: now they all needed to establish *Channels* For this flow of power, the metaphysical structures by which mortals could draw upon it. To those looking to carve out exclusion zones, this was also the time to act—like it or not, magic existed now, and they had but a short while to enact their rules and processes before it poured on down into the mortal realms.
Lee
As the magic dripped from the cracks in that reality, the goddess of agriculture began to weave it with her fellow divinities. Her tendrils of wheat, her divine hands, grasped on to the magic and worked it with a mastery that only a god could wield. In truth, she considered the idea of different *Magical types* For each god moronic, and she would have no part in them. She would not limit the kind of magic that her mortals could wield, only how much they could use it. "Let you call upon the power of your fruits..." Triticea murmured, breaking off a piece of magic to mold, and creating the limitation of **Material components** For her magic.

The goddess flew higher, "O' children, know when to let your tools rest lest the scythe shatters against the harvest." Her magic would not tire her children, nor would it burn them up. Instead, they would only be allowed certain amounts of magic before being forced to rest to use more. **Spell slots**, she would call them. This was her own personal brand of magic, of course, which meant that such limitations would not be beholden to mortals who turned to the other gods for this new magic. "And let the mightiest tools rest for longer," She whispered, creating new **Levels** Of magic. "Let you harness this magic through study, through divine gifts, and through contract." 

With her own brand of magic properly sculpted, she let loose the flow of power towards her Valley, showering upon her realm like arcane rain. "Let this power heal and harm. Let it birth fire and steel, and let it restore life to land that is salted and broken." She whispered as it curled. She could not say that she was satisfied with an outcome that forced mortals to pay a toll, not really. It seemed inefficient. Did the gods not already have enough? Even so, it was too late for her to object now, and so she continued to channel her power into the ritual to spread magic all throughout the World Tree.
Dale
The last negotiations had been worked, the last of what Rav considered rational safeguards had been woven into the ritual, now was the time of implementation and godwork. The crystal, held by Soldr and presumably one other, began to hum and glow in what might be confused for a consistent pitch but to those paying attention it was filled with fluctuations in both light and sound as the god worked to weave all that was agreed upon into the skein of reality. And when that was done, when power and promise and most importantly magic flowed free from the Throne, then Rav'nixander took up loose threads and pulled them into a knot of his own design.

This would be a magic as a tool, mortal hands and mortal minds turning intent and expression and knowledge oh so directly into works. This would be a magic of knowledge, where the discovery and sharing of knowledge was directly tied to how the magic flowed. This would be a magic of intent, the full conceptualization of an idea and the will to see it exist becoming existence in and of itself. This would be a magic of expression, both in the creativity of mortal minds to learn and understand and invent, but also in the belief that drives them to make the realms a better place. And above all else, above everything else of this magic, was the core tenet of Rav'nixander woven into the heart of the magic he claims as his own: This was a magic *Of the people*, a way for them to wrest for themselves a piece of one of the exclusivities of the gods.

In various cultures they would call this magic different things: Creomancy, Summoning, Mage-Weaving or even Teledivinics. But right now, Rav'nixander knew this magic in a precise and simple term, this would be the magic of **Creation**.
Joseph
Mr Bones could sense the magic slowly creeping its way out of the demiplane. He could quite see into the demiplane but the skeleton could certainly sense it. It seemed... Off. Unlike the other demiplanes that he had been to so far there was a definite purpose in this that he just couldn't place his finger on. Not enough time to dwell on that though, he needed to act to preserve his land. Mr Bones held a clawed hand out towards his realm, slowly making it into a fist. With this relatively simple motion, any pockets of void that somehow impeded the expansion of magic were brought into Mr Bones' land. Some of these pockets became dense enough to form new materials, further strengthening the desert in resisting the ritual. It wouldn't be enough to stop a god from forcing magic into his realm, but without a continuous concerted effort the dead would remain magic free for a while longer.
Cynthia
With all the painfully extensive bickering over, it was finally time to get to the actual creation and expansion of the magic.

When Majesty forced her demiplane to bleed the energy, he watched as the others began their work. Then, with hands wreathed in pure power, he physically and spiritually reached out and grasped hold of the power that spilled out. He let it flow like mists and fog, let it pour like heavy rain. 

Into its patterns he molded hissing lightning and roaring thunder, heat and cold, whistling winds and the calm serenity of a clear day.

He gripped the power and directed it to his realm, letting move first like a stream, then a great river, then a wind that swept into and through the realm. It soaked and seeped into the realm, enriching and being enriched in return.

It was wonderful.

Slowly, Ethros lowered his hands, his work settling down and stabilizing. This was good, and had perked up his mood.

He sent a small smile and nod to Majesty.
Elizabeth
*He felt the magic as his cruel smile grew larger, this was it- the whole reason he was even here. He stood once again moving towards the magic energy- he hadn't a realm, not yet- but he could still hold this magic within himself untell it was time, store and change it to create his own* 

*He began to gather the energy to him before his chest began to tremble and shake as if something was attempting to break threw the skin and surface before both sides of Agraothrusts chest ripped open revealing a massive toothy maw that snapped hungrily at everything around it, but the energy began to move towards it as Agraothrust began to guide it into his core, atleast for now he would hold the root untell his realm could.* 

*The magic began to shape and turn within him as he consumed his fair share, a eldritch school- it was fitting although he figured it wasn't to unique it was his. And that was what mattered, to him atleast*
Mark
*Chaos ascendant, an unbound tide of chittering madness surged within these halls of divinity and clashed against reality's rigid restraints. Change beckoned, thus did a whirlwind of sweeping splendor drink from our world's wound and carry the arcane ichor through its current. So too did space ebb and flow, for our Nach brought the full measure of an indomitable will to bring reality unto its knees, the combined hand of gods would see to it that their world was irreversibly changed. Thus did our Nach grasp the opportunity, an opportunity to broaden the Nachening's reach and chance for splendor of a kind.*

*She held her arms aloft, standing "Tall" Perched onto the hall's table. These maddened eyes looked unto all within her reach, and sought a world of her own forged by a path she tread through the thick of it. Indeed, many of these "Others" Would grasp for stagnancy if allowed. Some were so rigid in their "Purpose" That they saw no other course, some sought to please an absent mother by doing what they think they'd want, some feared these Others and the mortals, a few even sought to coddle them. Our Nach however sought for more, so- so much more, that which is so simple yet infinitely complex.*

*The mad god looked greedily for the seeping wound of the world, and clawed at it, she clawed at reality's tendons to see to it that magic bled deep within our beloved Nachiavellian. And with these claws she weaved together not a school but an art, the greatest gifting for her beloved creatures, an opportunity to shatter stagnation and turn creation on its head. For these Others might fear their mortals achieving even a fraction of what gods could do, but our Nach would see us ascend if she could. Such is her nature, a creature most unnatural who'd see to it that her magical school would be much the same.*

***Nachromancy***

*A brilliant confluence of apparent chaos and wilful purpose, the means for mortals to bend nature through means most unnatural and lend the opportunity to breathe life into our world just as the gods do. Broadening the Nachening by existence alone, practitioners would lend their service to this great cause of the mad god through their actions in pursuit of whatever purpose they had for it. Nachromancy would see chaos ascend, Nachromancy would see change beckoned, our Nach would have her-...* "ELEPHANTS!" 

*Ah yes, elephants. Of course.*
Josephine
For a moment, she felt as if she stood on the highest peak in the Highlands, sunlight warming her skin but the cold winds biting and turning her cheeks red. She inhaled and her nostrils seemed to freeze. A moment later, and Calena felt that she was sitting in one of the lowland grassy plains of the Highlands, next to the lake where she had created the Corna. She smelled the aroma of the variety of herbs, fruits, and other plants that grew along the lake shore and nearby. 

While she was known as goddess of mountains, she planned to contribute to magic with her lesser-known domain, herbal medicine. She wanted to give everyone a method for carrying magic in their pockets, in jars and vials and bowls to be stored at home next to the hearth, a way to create change using the materials around them. 

Pulling a bowl and a carved wooden pestle from her satchel, she began crushing and mixing herbs together. Lavender and mint, baneberry and wolfsbane, hemlock and chamomile. Plants that healed, some that did nothing, others that caused harm. She added water that she had gathered from a high mountain stream to make this mixture more liquid, and she pulled on a loose thread of the magic that flowed from Majesty's demiplane, tugging on it until it slipped free like a fresh raspberry at harvest. She added the final component to the liquid and continued to work.
⬛

Grinding the materials down and mixing until it was a thin cherry-red liquid that shimmered in the light, Calena held the bowl in both hands, whispering and setting the requirements for her magic, for **Elixology**. Any creation must have a base of a natural remedy, there must be intent, and there must be spoken words. There was no rhyme or reason if a potion or elixir failed or succeeded. It required some background knowledge in herbs and healing, and anyone was welcome to try. 

Once Calena was ready and the elixir was set, she gestured with her hands, and the liquid began floating in the air before zipping away from the World Tree towards the Silver Highlands and any other realms that wished to experience this magic.

*A magic that can be saved, stored, learned, passed along from mortal to mortal.*

She relaxed with a deep sigh, content and proud of her and her siblings' work.