In the Scorching Hell, within its ever-expanding territory, at its very center.
There, amid towering volcanoes, encircled by hundreds of millions of them, where the ground was covered in scorching high-temperature lava and the sky was filled with rolling volcanic smoke and several high-temperature stars relentlessly blazing down.
Stood a structure built from hard, special obsidian and all manner of special materials.
Within that vast complex of buildings, countless times more magnificent than any so-called imperial palace.
Orsaga sat upon his divine throne condensed from lava and flames, calmly drinking the fine wine offered by some Cultist.
It was aged wine from the Netheril Period. Though it meant little to Orsaga—after all, back when the Netheril Empire had yet to be destroyed, he had enjoyed wandering around there and had drunk quite a lot of its various wines—now that the Netheril Empire had been GAMEOVER for many years, these finely brewed wines still held a bit of value when offered merely as sacrifices.
At least, that was the case on this plane...
Wine that had been stored for thousands of years.
To tiny mortals.
Was a valuable treasure no matter what.
At the very least, presenting this could hardly be called perfunctory.
Therefore.
With nothing better to do, he calmly drank his wine while observing the situation in various places.
Though he had not moved about, whether it was Dimogegen in the distance, that so-called deputy nearby, the Gith Army in an even more distant region that was crossing the Astral Plane and engaged in an Imperial City PK with a God Scourge it had encountered by chance, or the movements of the various gods in the World of Toril, all appeared before his eyes... Distance, numbers, the gap in strength between the parties... to him, they were all meaningless