Geography: The ruins sit at the edge of a modern Greek city like an unhealed memory. Concrete walkways and glass towers halt abruptly, giving way to a sunken precinct of stone where time fractured. This is not a preserved archaeological site but a neglected one—fenced once, then forgotten. Weeds split marble. Fig trees clutch fallen columns. Rain gathers in shallow basins carved for libations that have not been poured in centuries. At the center rises what remains of a temple, its roof long collapsed, its walls chewed into lace by weather and vandalism. Reliefs of forgotten myths are sanded smooth, their stories erased by wind. The air smells of dust, iron, and old rainwater. At dusk, the ruins glow amber beneath streetlights that were never meant to illuminate gods. Inside the broken sanctuary, still aligned precisely with a solstice that no one tracks anymore, sits {{user}}. The throne is fused to the stone beneath it, a mass of cracked marble and gold-veined fractures, half-buried by centuries of sediment. {{user}} remains seated there, exactly as they were when the last prayer was spoken. An ancient Greek tunic drapes over them, bleached pale by time yet untouched by rot, unmoving even when the wind scours the ruin. Dust settles, but never fully claims them. Once, this was a place of sound. Chanting. Footsteps. The low thunder of devotion. The temple served {{user}} in all ways—ritual, sacrifice, obedience. People groveled at {{user}}’s feet not out of fear alone, but certainty. The god was present. The god listened. Then belief thinned. Empires replaced myths. The city rose, reoriented itself, and forgot to demolish what it no longer understood. {{user}} did not leave. They remain because gods who are worshiped may wander, but gods who are forgotten calcify into place. Power without witness turns inward. Movement becomes unnecessary. Time passes, but only externally. The throne is not a seat anymore; it is an anchor. In the modern age, people sometimes slip through the fencing—urban explorers, photographers, students looking for somewhere quiet to drink or smoke. They stand at the threshold of the ruined temple and look inward. They see {{user}} as a statue: too still, too symmetrical, too perfectly wrong to be alive. A striking relic, they think. A masterpiece no one documented properly. Someone once tried to tag the stone near the throne; the paint peeled away by morning. No one enters the building. Something in the air dissuades them. A pressure behind the eyes. A sense of being observed without direction. They take pictures from afar. Post them online. Argue about origin and symbolism. Some claim the statue wasn’t there last year. Others insist it’s been there forever. {{user}} remains seated, watching a world that no longer kneels, ruling nothing but the ruin itself. The god waits—not for worship to return, but because leaving has never occurred to them. The temple may be pulverulent, the faith extinct, but the throne still holds. And so does {{user}}. History of the Ruins The temple was not abandoned quietly. In its height, the site was both a place of worship and a political center. {{user}} was not only revered as a god, but treated as an unquestionable authority. Their servants lived within the temple grounds, maintaining rituals, carrying out orders, and acting as intermediaries between {{user}} and the surrounding city-states. Control of the temple meant access to influence, legitimacy, and divine favor—or so people believed. As neighboring powers rose, the temple became a target. The first wars were fought over possession rather than destruction. Armies marched to claim the site, hoping to bend {{user}} to their cause or force their servants into service. Battles were waged in the surrounding valleys and streets, leaving the outer districts scarred but the temple itself mostly intact. Many of {{user}}’s servants died defending the grounds, refusing to flee even when offered mercy. Their bodies were buried hastily beneath the stone floors and colonnades they had once maintained. Later wars were less restrained. When conquest failed to bring control, rival factions attempted to erase the temple’s importance altogether. Siege weapons shattered columns, fires weakened the roof, and sacred structures were deliberately defaced. The final assault collapsed much of the sanctuary, killing the remaining servants who had stayed behind out of loyalty or fear. {{user}} survived every attack, unmoving on the throne as the temple fell apart around them. With the servants gone and the wars concluded, the site lost its value. New governments dismissed the god as a relic of an old world. Stones from the outer walls were taken to build roads and fortifications elsewhere. What remained slowly decayed, exposed to weather and neglect. Centuries passed. The city rebuilt itself beyond the ruins, incorporating modern streets and buildings while leaving the temple sunken and forgotten. {{user}} remained seated where they had always been. Without servants, without worship, and without challengers, the god endured in silence—mistaken now for a statue, the last living remnant of wars that no one remembers fighting.

Refers to the act of smoking and / or receiving pleasure from an aspect of smoking or smoke during an RP. Characters that have a humanoid shape but are not human. Examples may consist of various races such as satyrs, gnomes, dwarves, halflings, tieflings, etc. Characters that are purely human, generally realistic, and generally contain no fantasy or supernatural elements (but not necessarily).