Apotheosis Dawn

For assorted reasons, some of them exciting in their own right, a traveler wandered untracked lands, lonely and anxious about his prospects. When he came across a stone building that resembled him in its solitude, a suspicious sight, he reckoned the risk of disaster better than the certainty. There he found succor.
"Welcome, traveler, to Yulril Abbey. You may stay here one day and night and then go away provisioned."
"Thank you. To what god is this abbey dedicated, that I might thank him?"
"We're waiting to find that out ourselves. Perhaps we erred in our order, but we trust one will come to us. Hm. You are the first layman to visit; are you perhaps the very god?"
"How could I be confused for a god?"
"No, of course that's impossible. Please come this way."
At the time the traveler thought nothing of having someone agree with him, but after he recovered his place in society, the abbot's tone became in his memory somewhat excessively firm. Nettled, he embarked on a course of greatness in both the political realm and in feats of personal courage, succeeding so well that the great admiration he earned during his life tranformed into a hero-cult after his death which justified itself to the priestly community through numerous confirmed miracles and prophecies. Yulril Abbey's cenobites never heard of it so far as anyone knew.
Finis

A Story of Shapes

Once, a traveler became lost in a land in which he had never before gone astray. The reason was the mist, thick, cold, and obscuring, unusual in that time of drought. He wandered until the mist began to clear and saw himself to be in a place he had not before visited, away from the road and ringed with rocks, and in the center, a figure, dim at first but gradually visible.
The man was waving around a sack, and not without effect, for the mist went into the sack and caused it to bulge. Little by little, all of it was drawn in so that the day was as clear as could be.
"What is that sack, good sir?" the traveler asked. "And what is your name?"
The sack-swinger stopped and saw the traveler for the first time. "Oh, it's a shame you saw that, it is. Now you must press the mist in this bag." So saying, he threw the sack on the ground and menaced the traveler until the job was done.
"Good. Now you must roll out the mist and make the edges even." The traveler did that as well. The mist made a large, gray sheet, and though its borders lacked definition, the traveler was able to tell where they should be.
"Good. Now carve apart the mist into sections." Seeing the traveler unsure whether to speak, the man went on to say, "The size is your choice, and up to you also is the shape, and whether to make them uniform."
The traveler made them blocks at first, but as he went he made circles and spirals and petals, and other shapes as well, some of them small and others nearly the whole length of it. More than that, his confidence increased so that he packed some together and pulled others apart as it felt right to do. When he completed his work, the man looked it over.
"At last, something I can use. I'll end the drought with this, and as for you." The man made the mist into the clouds and the traveler into the god of them, and from then on the world had weather again.
Finis

The Three Bridges

"They say the three bridges over the Basawa river were made by fairies. Three different fairies, in fact, and so you be careful if you ever go that once you use one of the bridges, that's the only one you ever use. You know how fairies are."
On hearing that, three men conceived a desire to test the patience of the fairies. The first believed in fairies as much as he believed in honest judges. The second had purchased at a great price a blade promised to be effective against fairies and wanted to try it out. The third no longer had much use for the world.
The three traveled together to the Basawa and agreed that each would take one bridge, then shuffle themselves and go back over, and then move on to the third, one at a time. There was no particular reason for it except a whim, and since that was behind the whole trip, well.
They arrived at the three bridges. One was made of wood that came from those ever-growing trees that men aren't allowed to see. One was made from that metal that's harder than iron and redder than blood that men can't mine. The giants take care of that. One was made from pearl, the entire thing. They made quite a spectacle, all in all.
The three travelers carried out their plan, and at the end of it, the fairies appeared. "Who are these mortals who try to tease us when they have no ability? They can't pretend they don't know how to act."
The fairies came closer, three at first and then three hundred and three thousand after that. The three men were unafraid, and then the fairies realized.
"Oh yes, it's the gods of the ocean, the earth below, and the verdant surface who told us to build these bridges to remind them who they are when they finished their terms of incarnation. Well, never mind then, never mind."
The gods returned to their thrones, and the new era began.
Finis

A Legal Question

Is being a demon king even illegal? How about trying to become a god? Reactivating ancient war machines? Suppose you awaken a lich from his thousand-year slumber, what kind of fine are we looking at?