(Wild conjecture to follow)

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(Wild conjecture to follow)

The Aztec Pantheon (the Teotl) claims there have been five previous Creations before this one. Some of their members claim to have existed throughout all five, and say that they are responsible for placing the current Sun God(s) in the sky, which is apparently a necessity if linear time is going to exist. Most other pantheons, and particularly the various sun gods, strongly protest this. The Aztec Pantheon has not forced the issue, but quietly go on believing that the various sun gods are all merely aspects of frail, old Nanahuatzin, the most humble god in the Aztec Pantheon, who sacrificed himself in the pyres of what would become the new Sun.

Often seeming to have created Themselves out of nothing, the Sun God(s) (Amun Ra/Belenus/Pelor/Amaunator/etc?) vanquished the great beast(s) that had arisen from the dark seas of primordial Chaos (Cipactli/Nu/Tharizdun/the Tarrasque/Tiamat/Leviathan?). The beast was torn to pieces in the battle that followed: thirteen Heavens were formed from his head, nine Underworlds were formed from his tail, and all the rest of the new Creation was formed from his body.

The Sky Father (Cronus/Ymir?) took clay from the Earth Mother and created the First People, the first mortals-- who would later achieve immortality, in the form of the Guardinals, and even a kind of divinity as the Animal Lords and gods of the Egyptian Pantheon. They were given a gift (a jar/a cedar box/something else, placed in the safekeeping of one of their number (Pandora/Seagull/depends who you ask), left over from a previous Creation, which, when opened, released the stars in the sky, and with them, all the ills of the world-- the first disease, that of evil itself, later to become embodied in the yugoloths.

Followers of the Aztec pantheon attribute Quetzalcoatl with taking pity on humans in a previous Creation (in which he also destroyed them for their hubris, scouring the world with arcane wind), which led to His recreating them in the current Sun (after retrieving their bones from the vault of the death god Mictlantecuhtli).

The race of Giants (the Titans, the Jotunns, the Fomorians, ‘monsters’ in general) were the first children born of an actual union between the Sky Father and Earth Mother (Uranus and Gaia?); they ruled Creation early on, before being overthrown by their own children (the Olympians, the Aesir, the Tuatha De Danann) and, for the most part, imprisoned in the underworld (Carceri, yes, but maybe other Lower Planes as well). Their weaker siblings, the lesser giants and monsters that are still around today, managed to hold on to power for a short while longer-- for instance the (lowercase) giants’ enslavement of the dwarves, which lasted for many years before Moradin appeared and liberated them.

The Ancient Baatorians-- pain elementals which survive in the present in the form of kytons, bladelings, nupperibo, and maugs-- were created to exemplify necessary evil. Not the selfish will-to-power of the baatezu, or the gratuitous slaughter of the tanar’ri, or the various shades of greed and pettiness demonstrated by the yugoloths, night hags, gehreleths and rakshasa, but evil toward a purpose, however regrettable, as selfless in its way as the crusades of the archons. The Ancient Baatorians were there to punish those who went astray in life, and to ensure that conflict and strife never ended. A steady stream of blood and sacrifice was necessary-- to grease the wheels of Mechanus, thus keeping the fires of the Sun Disc of Aten forever stoked. The Ancient Baatorians are the lock which keeps the Chained God chained, for if he were ever to be freed, the great beasts of old would reform his body from the current Creation, and all would be destroyed in the process.

Willing sacrifice is just as good for this purpose, and if the followers of good gods lay down their lives for cause or country, glory or a chance at paradise, all the better; if devils and demons go on killing each other for the rest of eternity, that’s fine as well. Blood is blood, and as far as the Aztec Pantheon is concerned, death always comes as an honour.

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So that's one idea, or several of them. Finding ways to mesh the various pantheons, both from our world and others, finding ways to reconcile the contradictions, even if the reconciliations are just as messy if not more so-- I find that interesting. These are gods, after all, in a world that is shaped by belief. They can rewrite memory and thus history according to their whim, bilocate and appear in a multitude of forms. Who's to say their own memories of the past are any more reliable than those of mortals? Only they themselves.

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End Result

This is sort of in the same vein as the way I picture things. I always considered that there were originally the impersonal "Big Forces" (LIFE, DEATH, LAW CHAOS, etc.) that initiated the formation of things; but as mortal thought began to affect the planes, these Big Forces developed "facets" that were the typical gods (Zeus, Thor, etc.) that interact with each other and even with other facets of the same Big Force.
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It never really mattered much to me as I seldom have the PCs interact with the typical gods and absolutely never let them interact with the Big Forces (if it were even possible for a mortal to interact with a divine abstraction) so while I also enjoy the concept of a "Mono-myth"; I'm curious if you see your hard work trying to unite the various pantheons/timelines/etc. will pay off for your campaign

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--

If the players can never reach the point where their characters can interact with the Big Forces, meet the gods or become them, then the Godsmen and Sign of One are somewhat of a sham, aren't they? It's admittedly probably game-ending if one or more players achieves divine apotheosis-- but man, what an ending. Planescape seems like a game where if the party goes off the rails and breaks the game, in the sense that they move outside what the scope of the rules can contain, then I think the setting itself can bear what the mechanics can't.

This is what the Aztec Pantheon believes in my game. It's only true insofar as it's what they believe, and if it's true at all then that's because they believe it; their belief makes it real. Sun gods became something a motif in the campaign, and since the Aztecs are awash in sun gods, they had to figure in somewhere.

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I love the Outlands. Here’s

I love the Outlands. Here’s some stuff I made up for a previous campaign.

Accord- Ancient gate-town to Acheron, so-named because some berk wanted to use it to negotiate a peace treaty between the armies of Acheron. Didn’t work, naturally. Slid off into Acheron long ago, as per usual-- an ancient, now long-lost faction claimed it was all part of an elaborate experiment. The Manifold (also known as the Many, or the Joiners) said they wanted to use Accord to colonize one of Acheron’s cubes, for use as a quarry and headquarters in the faction’s dreams of uniting all the planes. This cube, itself renamed Accord, later slid off into Mechanus, before vanishing to parts unknown. According to the Manifold, this was also by design, and only a dry run for bigger plans at that. (It wasn’t long after that the whole faction got themselves scragged by the Lady.)

Koboldurn- An old joke: “What’s a Koboldurn?” “...Not very much.” Kobold was formerly Makepeace, a former gate-town to Bytopia that was destroyed in a previous Great Modron March. A few decades ago the ruins were resettled by kobolds, a mixed tribe of Sigilians and primes, who shored up the place and fortified it with traps, as kobolds are wont to do. A few well-intentioned adventurers keep trying to drive the kobolds out, but for the most part, nobody’s especially worried about them building up an army of kobolds to overrun the planes from in there.

New Babylon- The new gate-town to Gehenna. After Torch finally slid over into Gehenna, it sprang up overnight, fully inhabited. Entirely underground, the streets are carved into giant stalactites, all suspended over a roiling sea of acid. Only powerful magic keeps the fumes from killing everyone in the city-- any object left unattended for long will dissolve into a puddle and slip into the acid below, if someone else doesn’t happen by and nick it first. The oddest thing of all is that Torch’s slide was a violent one, not surprising except for its suddenness. A lot of refugees jumped the nearest portal and ended up scattered across the planes without so much as a change of clothes, but even now, if anyone knows exactly where Torch wound up, they’re not talking

Perpetually Falling Mountain- Several hundred immense boulders, stacked in uneven towers that seem to balance in defiance of gravity. A place of pilgrimage and meditation, and a planar crossroads, the ‘mountain’ is thought to mark the elusive, shifting border between the Ringlands and the Hinterlands; the Mountain’s location does not seem to change so much as there is more than one means of reaching it. The most reliable route is due gatewards of Automata, but some travellers claim to have stumbled onto it slightly spireward of Glorium. Balance is the aim of the nameless petitioners that wander the garden-like grounds, unclaimed by any god and protected by spirits of luck and nature, playing games of skill which stretch on for centuries without end. A venerable, seldom-seen luck dragon is said to guard the place-- supposedly sightings are rare because she’s invisible. Skeptics say she’s dead or never existed. Athar, oddly enough, claim her as one of their own, a member in good standing, and view the Mountain as a pseudosacred site.

The Seawall- Well within the Hinterlands and thus only uncertainly navigable, there is a sea so vast and deep that it could swallow entire worlds, and more besides. And far across that sea, there is a wall, so tall and wide as to look neverending. It’s not, though. Fact is, it’s perfectly finite, though it doesn’t have any edges and you can’t sail around to the wall’s inner side. That’s because it’s a sphere-- a crystal sphere, in fact, smack in the middle of the infinite Outlands-- in the middle of nowhere and everything, an island, metaphorically speaking, of relative calm in the forever-shifting Hinterlands. Tiny fishing communities and archipelagos stud the water against the wall or within sight of it. Few of the locals understand the true nature of the thing, let alone what could be on the other side, and they’re not alone in wondering.

The Amadan- Another oasis of stability in the Hinterlands, the Amadan is a colossal silver tower sticking up out of a mangrove swamp and into the clouds above, in a region where all four seasons pass over the course of a week. The tower is big enough to contain a small city, called Hlaldain-- an arcology inhabited by over a thousand elves, most of them scholars from a spelljamming elven empire, and their various guests. The city is named for its patron, Hlal, the dragon goddess of laughter. In gratitude to the goddess, both the tower and its leader take the title of Amadan (Gaelic for ‘fool’), and Hlaldani citizens mostly worship a combination of the elven and draconic pantheons. Next to Hlal herself, her mother Aasterinian, Chronepsis, Bahamut, and the elven trickster god Erevan Ilesere are the most popular.

Omen- A hodgepodge of floating motes of fire, water, and stone, the Wandering City is considered slightly worse than a myth by those planars who have heard of it. Old Omen Town constantly slides across the Outlands, almost entirely at random, but mostly keeping to the Hinterlands. The last time it appeared in the Ringlands was above Xaos, fifteen years ago, for about eight seconds. Plenty of folks are convinced it’s some Chaosman illusionist’s idea of a joke. Some say that Omen’s temples pay homage to more gods than the city has people, and that no one ruling body has ever held power in the city longer than a year before being overthrown; powers of law and exponents of chaos alike have vied over the city. They say the people all live in houseboats or hot air balloons, in bubbles of ice or congealed stone on the elemental motes. They say the earthmotes are nothing but a bunch of airborne ruins, held together with ettercap-webs and well wishes. They say it’s the key to turning the tide of the Blood War, if its movements could only be controlled or charted; the truth is dark.

The Scattered Temple- When Aoskar was killed by the Lady of Pain, many of his followers were flayed or mazed. Some hurled themselves over the edge of the Cage, or set out to wander the multiverse in despair; any number of temples and shrines raised to the God of Portals were left untended and abandoned. Many were looted, of course, but unknown to even the canniest planewalkers, plenty of the more remote places were simply lost, the keys to their portals vanishing with Aoskar’s priesthood. Marked by obscure symbols and esoteric riddles, the Scattered Temple could provide back doors and shortcuts throughout the multiverse if anyone were to stumble upon its secret ways. The only one who still know the Temple’s crumbling byways might be the wild Aoskian hounds that still roam the Outlands.