A phenomenally powerful relic that gained sentience on a swamp planet in O.E.L. Dimension Designator Number 8,003,299, Delirium’s knows nothing about what made it, or what it was made for, bearing a large crack along a segment of its blade.
The world Delirium woke up in was a place where life was cheap, and cruelty was celebrated. Its first moments were slotted through a human man’s cuirass, where on the man’s shoulder it watched a barbaric feeding ritual of a local pigman tribe by a settling community of humans. At the time, the nameless relic had little understanding of who was what or what all of this meant, but being forced to watch the small, unassuming pig people tied up and summarily rolled over in offering to a slow, stupid looking lord slug was too much for it to tolerate.
To its own perception the pigs were stupid, ugly creatures, but the humans were simply laughing. There was no reverence for the large gutter-traveling slug, but the men and women surrounding the pogrom were doing it for what Delirium realized was fun.
One by one the pigs were fed to the hideous creature, hooved hands torn from one another as family were separated briefly, only to be reunited in the horrific death that awaited them.
Delirium focused its will anywhere it would go. Its emotion reaching new heights of mania as it focused on, more than anything else, how much it wanted to hurt these people, for arresting it and holding it like some toy, for killing these seemingly innocent creatures and taking such pleasure in it, for not instead placing it on a pedestal to be worshipped.
Far greater in the relic was its desire to be worshipped, to be seen as something special, because it was better than them, than all of this. It refused to exist even a day in such chaotic squalor.
It was going to put an end to it… and it didn’t take long.
While focusing its emotion into the crowd, the man holding it took a zealous swig from his tankard… and caused the lightest, reddest cut on his forearm against the relic’s exposed edge.
That was all it needed.
The “piglins” of the swamplands worship “her” as a goddess to this very day, and with her leadership she’s refined the water-logged grounds of her world into an agricultural paradise, creating the finest grounds the realms have ever known.
…One must always be weary of contaminated products, of course, but she’s sense taken on a policy of honesty and excellent customer service.
After all, she wants a really nice pedestal.
