Lindsay
A faint sizzle accompanied the god as his head ceased its rolling, boiling mass. It solidified into a rectangle as the rest of the creature finalized its truest appearance, before every surface of the rectangular head emitted tiny scratches and scrapes, coating their surface in flowing text and languageless sigil. The shapes, words, and diagrams changed constantly, as if it was the continual motion of a manuscript at work. Thin golden accents poked their way out of the now-solidified base of its body, tiny lights winking from his form into the void.

Dots crossed the upper sides of the rectangle while Vraisem accomplished their equivalent of a blink. He said nothing, as there was nothing to say. Where once he had been nothing, now he was. The deity lifted a hand, sharpened fingers scraping against his palm as he opened it, closed it, and turned it about.
Kevin
Today was an eventful day for Sinrael it seemed as yet again while swiping through the worlds that her primary self watched in the Phobatorium, she caught an interesting sight. A god being born. This spread yet another wicked smile across her face, deciding to send yet another piece of herself to a different location. The Phobatorium, the ritual, the sands, all places she was. Now here as well, amongst the upper branches of great gaia yet again. 

This time she appeared in no guise or different form, but her true form. A pale humanoid woman with a longsleeve black top, connecting to a hood that covered most of her face but her lower half with its eerily wide and razor sharp smile. Strands of her thick black hair seemed to rest up on her shoulders coming from beneath the hood, some places curling into crescent shapes much in contrast to the sideways crescent moon that floated above her head. 

Her nails were sharp and black, her hands slender and covered in silver rings and bangles, bracelets too. 

Her feet bare and one leg revealed, this form came through into the void somewhat behind and above this newly formed god, as she formed from a black smoke that seemed to just appear. 

She seemed to vanish into a puff of smoke again before reappearing right behind him and leaning in to whisper in his... Well, where his ear would be. 

"Welcome... Little brother... Who... Are... You?" She smiled wider behind him, her head tilted to one side just a bit as her pure white eyes peered from under her hood to see what he was precisely doing with his hands. Writing something? Observing his new fresh form? Or just idling away?
Lindsay
The new god barely had time to understand his position, to appreciate the fact of their existence before they were accosted. His solitude was interrupted by the faintest sensation of presence. His hand had been closed in a fist, but it opened as blackened smoke came into presence above and behind him. In the process of opening his hand the quill-like points of each finger scraped along his palm, exposing a line of four golden squiggles beneath the inky shell. Said marks wiggled their way from his palm farther up his arm to vanish at the elbow joint. 

While Vraisem did not overtly react to the original puff of darkened smoke, the literature scratching itself across the surface of his rectangular head quickened its pace. The goddess appeared behind her newest divine sibling, and the words had barely left her lips before he turned to face her.

Well. *Turned* Was probably not the best explanation for what happened. In truth, the Ink Deity's cloak inverted itself and passed straight through his body, the polygonal accents on the back of his head passed through it to affix themselves to what was once the front, and every joint reversed in on itself until what was once the back of the god was now his front, and the front how his back. 

"Authocrat. Creativor. Taletician. Identifacsimiler." The butchery of language left the creature's head, the words tracing themselves along his rectangular face as concepts and terms forced themselves together. The author and the autocrat, the creative and the creator, the tale and the tactician. Facsimiles of its identity passed into a voice whos individual syllables and intonations scratched the ears but whos whole phrases flowed a gentle stream. 

"Vraisem. What referentent has placed you to page?"
Kevin
The goddess did not move her head as the man seemingly rotated and phased some of his body to... Face her? Yes. That was a good word for it. His visuals did not disturb her, but his words... His way of phrasing and speaking had a discordian dissonance to it. Like beautifully written words... With the sound of the scratching of a chalkboard accompanying them. She enjoyed the odd contradiction. She gave the man another sniff before exhaling with a slight moan of relief. 

"I think I catch your meaning. Well my dear little brother... I am... The driving force behind every story, one could say an antagonist... I am fear and discord, the thing in histories pages that causes history to occur..." She gave a chuckle and floated around him as if she were floating atop water or a cloud before she straightened herself back up. Her head bobbed from side to side as she thought. Then her eyes widened and she grinned with teeth aplenty. 

"Oh I am here to instigate and inspire... To invigorate and discover your desire..." She gestured to the void around them, pointing her finger at the far off, down below realms of mortals and other gods. 

"Perhaps... You, as an author would like to make a species... A race of mortals, whether they be long lived celestials and demons... Or short lived flies... But a species none theless. One to watch the realms of other gods and record their histories and ongoings. To write and record each and every story..." 

She then made a tsk tsk tsk noise with her mouth before shrugging and grinning again. "Or... I suppose authors do create rather than record... So you could choose one of those... Empty black spots in the void by the roots, to make your own realm... Your own realm of mortals... Civilizations... Creatures galore. Make your own story and watch it's history play out in real time..."
Lindsay
One deity floated freely, while the other stood stock still. One spoke of her life's meaning, the other listened. Scriptures scratched sigils with each syllabic intonation as Vraisem's face copied Sinrael's words in a dozen languages not yet created. She was the antagonist to every story she deigned to join, the driving force of dismay and destruction to the lives of mortals. 

*Mortals?*

Yes, Vraisem had existed for all of a few seconds, but the concept of mortals as differing entities to himself and the one pacing around him already made since. It was a common literary presence, of course. Either way, it was secondary to the conversation at hand.

The Weaver of Discord was not *Lying* When she spoke of her purpose, but rather twisting concepts to fit the imagined desires of the newly birthed author god. Instigating history? Birthing fear and discord? The Ink Deity questioned whether or not *Inspiration, invigoration, and the acquisition of desire* Truly matched her Will, or if it was a clever ploy to ingratiate herself with a deity seemingly built around similar literary devices. Ultimately? It did not matter either way. The Goddess of Fear and Discord was doing as she was wont to do, and such an act did far more for her relationship with Vraisem than if her statements had just been simple truth.

"Litereation is my emphocasis. Rises, falls, all the mortal tapistory for the benefiscience of eternity."

A droplet of ink left the rectangular face, falling from its chin to combine with the body upon the chest as Vraisem turned to 'look' down to the roots far below. 

"I am not the first, nor the last. Many leaves impale the birthtree. What tales cross them? What beings write them? Is it a tragedy to which I have appeared?"
Kevin
The goddess let loose a cackle as he finished his words, for there wasn't much to notice about his emotions and feelings regarding her other than the fact that his emotional energies seemed to move... Almost mechanically, like the typing upon a typewriter. Geometric and grandiose yet plain and to the point somehow. She placed a hand on his shoulder and floated to beside him, leaning a bit closer to where his visage would be. 

"Oh nooooo... My dear little brother... The tales that cross the innumerable leaves that fall from our birthtree are yours to write if you so choose... Yours to record and regale with! And the beings that write them?" She gave a hardy laugh and pushed herself off his shoulder gently but enough to cause her to seemingly backflip slowly through the air like a twisted mermaid of smoke through endless waters. 

"That's us. The God's... Though in truth, I suppose even the mortals are authors themselves... Each wondrous living creature singing a song of its own or writing a tale whether it be drole or delightful!" She floated around him for a second or two before stopping again in front of him with a wicked grin, gesturing out to the realms below and around them. 

"As for whether it's a tragedy you've been born into..." She gave a spin and laughed a bit during it before exhaling a sort of pleased sigh. "That depends on perspective, little brother! Record what you can and eventually... Tell me whether you find the story so far as a tragedy or a comedy."