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Finding... bizarre inspiration in his new province, he reaches out Kottun'Rah, and tears a section of the mountain from the sea of blood- the sea screams in anger as a chunk of it reaches forth and grabs upon this 'splinter' of his divine plane holding tight even as Qwitzikottle tosses it forth into the mortal world and substantiates it with his Bruatlity act- this land held by the abomination flesh of the sea, he names Carociber. -1 Brutality Act

Um, regions require 2 sphere acts unless I'm missing something? Though I do quite enjoy the region.

On a purely aesthetic level, the Flesh Conch of Screaming explains, via a trail of deposited pearls, the proposed mortals are direly lacking in meat and music, so they will not invest. But the Flesh Conch of Screaming doesn't discriminate against inferior lifeforms.

Yes: 2 (Qwitzikottle),(Flesh Conch of Screaming)
No: 0

Shinka politely but firmly burns any and all shrines off its explicitly uncivilized sacred mountain. Again.

The Flesh Conch of Screaming wails mildly in confusion but decides to oppose burning stuff for now, spending all my Night to twist fate in my favour.

"I have no particular problem with this province for now, although it depends on my province working as planned"

The Flesh Conch of Screaming whines pathetically, "gIVeacTShUNgryeAtsOcAnmaKEWOrldspAnnINGtravelANDnaviGATIonNETworkHUNGRYnEVERgetlOstSCARYSCARYSCARY"

Even after consuming a lion larger than a god, the Flesh Conch of Screaming's body still rumbled with hunger, self-cannibalizing endlessly down to the cellular level. Eventually rogue cells began to appear once more, and fearing a repeat of the Maw-incident, the Flesh Conch of Screaming desperately began ripping mountainous tumours out of themself and flinging the masses of rebellious hungering flesh down into the world below in a mildly clamitous meteor shower.

Cancerous scars loom in various regions pulsing with a dangerous yet tempting power, seemingly linked to each other through their common origin.

Flesh and Music broken into 4 Generic Acts
Spend 4 Generic Acts to create 5 provinces as a contiguous sequence of networked tumours, 01 through 05

The Flesh Conch of Screaming having touched the Tormour while creating it, also has a benign tumour familiar making them a Resonator and allowing them to use the Resonant provinces to navigate, making it much harder for them to become lost, which helps to assauge their divine fears for now.

The Flesh Conch of Screaming indicates through a very loud and violent tantrum, that the donation of additional generic acts to provide full coverage to suitable regions by the resonant tumour network would be greatly appreciated. Sponsors may customize the appearance and auxiliary contract magic as they wish, or provide guidelines or desires to the Flesh Conch of Screaming, which it will do its utmost to fulfill.

The abhorrent squelching of cysts indicates that the Flesh Conch of Screaming believes the world should be called Dinner.
A hypnotic writhing of various appendages conchveys Fleshy approval of Secret Magic, with the clarification that eyeless beings can also use it.

Spend a madness act to draw the Great Old One’s closer.

The Flesh Conch of Screaming drools in anticipation and approval.

Aila has placed a hex on an empty part of the sky.

Various tendrils of tangible sound begin to poke at Aila curiously as the Flesh Conch of Screaming asks her a question between nibbling on itself, "wHYWhydIDyoudoTHATTHATTHAT? hUngryEATEAT! tELLmeMEtellTELLme!"

The Flesh Conch of Screaming enters the Painted Spire, which will presumably aid in the information gathering of divine divination.

Through as-yet unknown machinations, the Night resrves of the gods are no longer publicly visible.

The Flesh Conch of Screaming uses Sight to See-re this ocurrence.

The Singing Flesh also seems incompatible with Polis and the Old World somehow.

They also attempt to See-re on the cause of the strange incompatibility of the Singing Flesh with Polis and the Old World. The Flesh Conch of Screaming does not recall anyone publicly contesting the connections.
The Flesh Conch of Screaming spends 1 Sight to observe the Eater, if they have some leftover, mildly curious about how their Incarnae is faring.

Side: The Inside
Consequence: It heals and becomes healthier, freed from disease and ailment.
Gaze: Parasites are a type of disease right? Inside Eye stares at the parasite inside the Godhead's mouth until something happens.

I who am Lynn idly plucks up one of the cackling cabbage fossils in my talons. I begin picking it into oblivion leaf by leaf, throwing them into the Lake of Idyll to feed nothing at all. It is purely a happy happenstance that some shadows happily devour the leaves, stone being crunched noisily and bubbles popping on the surface. I cannot help but lament that the Lake is now much less idyllic, dyed mostly red by a river of multi-coloured dream-blood. I can feel the claws of mortality beginning to sink into me. I might die soon...

You, Catte! Felidae!, take a brisk walk through the infinitely filled primordial dream, barging through deserts filled with lounging cattes and jungles filled with stalking cattes and temples dedicated to cattes, amidst the libraries of sconces, the gardens of thunder, the one really big pie. Seeing these ephemerally eternal cattes soothes and pets my dynamo, and I can feel myself getting more energetic.

One of the Temple Cattes appears to have adopted you as her subject, and is now following me. Her shrine-tag proclaims she is Lioness. I try to strengthen the Guide, but mess up my concentration. Your Guide pings to indicate a new message. I read it. It suggests that a moon pairs well with a sky. The edges of the scroll fray under phantasmal erosion. Lioness bats the scroll around curiously. It teaches her how to walk.

As Catte! Felidae! continues their ramble, they stumble over a big fat stupid thing which got in their way. Even as they get up and huffily stalk away, the Tob succeeds in resurrecting themselves, quite an amazing thing to do indeed. Their horn thrums with power as they punch a dolphin with their possibly non-existent fists. The dolphin clicks angrily before diving into the Wound in the Primordial that is a Dream Which Bleeds with Great Fury into a Mighty Torrent Which Flows Onwards.

With a mighty "Squeek!", you arrive! Where do you arrive? Why of course, at only the most luxury and gourmet fortress and cake to ever exist, the Yellow Sponge Cake Fortress! That is it the only cake and fortress with continuous existence is irrelevant. You step into your sanctum sanctorum not a moment too soon, your dynamo having been crumpling like an overaged souffle with the dire lack of good taste present in the primordial. Delight is also at deplorably low levels. You brood in your green, non-fruity, heart over the sad and pathetic puffing of your Universal Cooking Stove™ as it strains and struggles to keep you in existence.

You walk deeper into the protective walls of Sponge Cake, and squawk in relief as an everpresent itch that you had never realized was there grows dim. Idly pecking at the walls and judging the quality of your dream (it lacks consistency and is too savoury), you proceed to get lost in the labyrinthine, ever-expanding hallways and corridors of your fortress.

Thou creates thineself, dredging out your reflection from scarlet torrent and hanging it far above, or perhaps below. Thou gazes upon the world, and thus gaze at yourself, The Moon in Red, but the staring eyes are so few, so few, and shortlived, short. Your lunar radiance is steadily dimming as the Primordial Dream continues to nibble and imbibe at your glory.

We you they Brink of Catastrophe Advancing from the Horizon, Jauntily, bodily throws us and themselves at the Wound in the Primordial that is a Dream Which Bleeds with Great Fury into a Mighty Torrent Which Flows Onwards as a blizzard of salt, tortuously ripping the wound open yet wider with deliberate maliciousness. The Primordial Dream does not, cannot, purposefully react to this provocation, but we I you dreams that it does and so you feel an assault upon your very being as the womb-cradle-nothing lashes out against you. The cockles of our and your and my dynamo warm and churn as power flows into even as an infinitely large yet tiny expanse of everything is flooded steadily more mostly red, even as my (y)our body disappears in clouds of dust beneath the hostility of everything.

At the End and also the beginning, space suddenly becomes more defined and rigid, as location is enforced and called "World". Perhaps a grander dream, but quite bland and boring, an indeterminate area of grey fluff with no definition stretching out around the dreamlets of the other Dreamers. Already it begins to evaporate with its exposure to the Primordial Dream rioting just sideways of the illusion of consistent space, red moonlight illuminating the slow demise of the World.

Everything has changed, and yet nothing has.


Dreams:
Horrific Cabbage Skeletons: 7 Significance
Hill of the Absurd: 4 Significance
Lake of Idyll: 5 Significance
Scroll of Guiding: 2 Significance
Salted Wound in the Primordial that is a Dream Which Bleeds with Great Fury into a Mighty Torrent Which Flows Onwards: 5 Significance
Lioness, Queen of Cattes: 3 Significance
A punched dolphin: 3 Significance
Yellow Sponge Cake Fortress: 3 Significance
The Moon in Red: 3 Significance
Za Warudo: 3 Significance

A figmentary pollster sidles up to you, me and them, asking if dreams should be ranked by their significance. Its beady eyes stare disconcertingly at a chocolate clipboard, their teeth quill gnashing with readiness.